


Tear Us Apart (To Let Us Heal)

by silverchitauri



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Bruce Banner, Age Regression/De-Aging, Anxiety, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Sam Wilson Friendship, Clint Barton Has Issues, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Hurt/Comfort, I messed up the timeline, I'm Bad At Summaries, Kid Bruce Banner, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, Kid Natasha Romanov, Kid Steve Rogers, Kid Thor (Marvel), Kid Tony Stark, Kid Wanda Maximoff, Language Barrier, M/M, Memes, Miscommunication, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Parent Phil Coulson, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Peter is a Little Shit, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Phil Needs a Hug, Poisoning, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Phil Coulson, Protective Scott Lang, Sam Wilson Feels, Sam Wilson is So Done, Sign Language, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Veteran Support Group, Veterans, Vines, Wakanda (Marvel), War Veteran Sam Wilson, scott lang is the best dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverchitauri/pseuds/silverchitauri
Summary: The Avengers are no strangers to dangerous situations. With super-soldiers, geniuses, assassins, and agents within their ranks, what could go wrong?But when a mysterious new enemy leaves them vulnerable as children, they have to fight their old demons and find out how to stay together, and who to trust.OrThe Avengers are reduced to kids, and Phil Coulson takes in seven super-dangerous, very traumatized children and one android.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on Archive. Yay. It might be terrible, so bear with me. I can’t promise it’ll be amazing, but I can promise that I will keep writing. In this fic, civil war did happen, but Tony and Steve actually pulled themselves together to some extent and reformed the Avengers.  
> I also made Clint able to actually fight and be a good agent. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> SilverChitauri

 

Tony wasn’t going to take anyone’s crap this morning.

No, he absolutely was not going to deal with Cap’s complaining, or Nick Fury’s early morning/really late night calls, Clint’s over-enthusiasm, Natasha’s sullen silence, Wanda’s teenage moods, Vision’s annoying statistics, Thor’s inept social interactions, or ANYONE ELSE’S CRAP.

Why? Because he, Tony Stark, leader of the Avengers, and genius billionaire playboy philanthropist that he was, was going to have a calm, Sunday breakfast before anyone else could ruin his morning. 

“FRIDAY?” he asked.

”Yes sir?” the AI replied pleasantly.

”Are any of the hooligans up yet?”

”No, sir.” She managed to sound amused and exasperated at the same time.

”Let’s make sure it stays that way.” He popped a blueberry in his mouth. “Warn me when one wakes up.”

Humming, he puttered around, pulling items off the shelves, half of which he had no idea how to use.

He was actually in a relatively good mood, until he heard the creak of the cover being lifted off the vent and a certain Clint Barton dropped from the ceiling into the hallway. 

“Ooooh!” Tony’s heart sank as Clint came barreling into the kitchen at top speeds like a heat-seeking, SHIELD agent-shaped missile. The archer beelined right for the muffins. Tony’s muffins. He grabbed two, tossed one to Steve, who had appeared in the doorway, and jumped up the counter.

Suddenly, the once peaceful kitchen began to fill with people. Natasha was at his elbow, shoving him further down the counter, Bruce was rifling through drawers, and Cap had somehow produced himself a salad bowl’s worth of cereal and was sitting down at the table, politely stuffing his face.

”FRIDAY,” Tony said plaintitively. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

”My apologies, sir,” said the AI, not sounding very apologetic at all. “But I assumed that it would do you well to be with people. By my calculations, you haven’t had any human interactions for approximately 63 hours.”

”That was the point, FRIDAY,” Tony mumbled. “And now everybody’s here.”

Wanda groaned incoherently as Vision gently guided her through the kitchen and into a chair beside Cap. The teenager looked about as diametrically opposed to Clint as was physically possible. Tony began to worry that she would start to fall apart and ooze all over his kitchen table. He hoped not. The table had been very expensive. He reminded himself that he also didn’t want to lose a member of the team. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility on his hands if a teenager suddenly started melting in the middle of the Tower. _But the table..._

“Please tell me that you were up all night doing something productive, like homework,” he said.

Vision looked up at him with that infuriatingly calm expression of his. “I will remind you that Wanda does not attend school. And no, Wanda was up all night with me watching a little show that she called F.R.I.E.N.D.S.”

Tony looked at him in horror. “So she was doing teenage things.”

“Yes, I suppose you could call it that.” Vision agreed. He nudged Wanda, who had apparently fallen asleep again, head on Vision’s shoulder. She blinked awake, and he offered her a glass of Tony’s chlorophyll smoothie. She took it from him, took a sip, and immediately gagged.  Tony felt indirectly offended. Those smoothies had saved his life. Well, not saved it. Prevented him from dying faster, but still. “She fell asleep at four fifty-three AM this morning,” Vision supplied helpfully.

”Greetings, friends!” Thor came storming into the kitchen, squeezed into a T-shirt and a flannel shirt, looking for all the world like a lumberjack, if lumberjacks carried hammers the size of roast turkeys. He grabbed the omelette Clint had been preparing (“Hey!”), sat down next to Natasha, and scooped up the omelette with his hands.

With his  _hands._  Like it was a freakin’ taco.

Tony put his head in his hands. “One peaceful morning,” he mumbled to nobody in particular. “Just one was all I asked for.”

“This is very peaceful,” Thor boomed cheerfully, spraying poor Bruce with bits of omelette. “On Asgard, you can sometimes watch giants skewer each other until their spleens–“

Cap cut him off with a polite cough. Thor frowned. “I was just describing the glory of Asgard to you mortals, for you sadly will not be able to travel there unassisted.”

”Yeah,” Bruce said, wiping his glasses. “I’m sure it’s fantastic, Thor. Really. It’s just—here on Earth, people don’t tend to talk about blood and death at the breakfast table.”

”What for?”

”Because it might gross them out,” Bruce explained like he was talking to a small child. Tony admired his patience.

“Oh,” Thor said, looking downcast for a total of five seconds. Then he brightened. “Well, then I shall tell you all about the decay of Ymir!”

“Decay?” Wanda asked. Her usually impeccably styled hair was a rat’s nest, eyes bleary and unfocused. Tony wagered that she had picked up on about 10% of the conversation so far, tops.

“Yes,” Thor informed her sagely. “His body formed what is now the Nine Realms. Even the maggots on his skin became the first dwarves.”

Tony began to softly bang his head against the countertop. Clint rubbed his shoulder until the billionaire slapped his hand away. Barton guffawed.

The day, Tony decided, could not get any worse. No, because almost every single thing that he had tried to avoid this morning had come right back to bite him. He resigned himself to sitting quietly at the counter, staring down at his untouched smoothie as Wanda snored into her waffles, Natasha glared at everyone, and Clint threw darts at muffins that Steve threw in the air, all the while listening to Thor’s retelling of a disgusting ancient Norse anatomy story.

Only Bruce was not participating, and Tony loved him for that. 

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice filtered through his head.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, pulling himself up from where he had been, facedown on the counter. “Just a little worn out, you know? What with everyone jumping around like caffeinated frogs—well everyone except for Wanda, I guess. She could stand a little more coffee, looks like. I’ve been meaning to tell you– there’s this prototype I’ve been working on—“

“Tony.”

“What?”

”FRIDAY’s got someone on the line.”

Tony realized that the over the chatter, FRIDAY’s voice was speaking. “Hold on a second, Fri.”

He rushed into the next room. Tony never usually rushed anywhere, but he was desperate to get out of that room. Once he was safely away from the chaos, he said, “FRIDAY, whatcha got for me?”

”Nick Fury, sir,” said the AI’s lilting voice. “He says it’s of utmost importance.”

”Yeah? Well, so is my breakfast.” Not that he was enjoying it, but that was beside the point. “Tell him I’ll call him later.”

”He insists that you respond, sir.”

”I insist that he goes and kisses his—“

”Sir, he says that there is an immediate threat being posed to New York City that needs the Avengers.”

Tony paused. He hated complying with SHIELD. Hated it. But he knew when a battle wasn’t worth fighting. “Alright, page him through.”

He almost instantly regretted it. Fury’s voice was like a foghorn in his ear. “Stark, you know that you’d be the last person I turn to.”

”Fury, that hurts. I thought I was your go to man.”

”Shut up and listen. We got issues, and whatever problems I have with you need to go flying right out the window until the job’s finished.”

”Well, it would certaintly help if you told me what the issue was.” Tony leaned against the wall and inspected his fingernails. “The team’s already awake. What should I tell them is breaking up their private Sunday morning?”

Fury ignored the last part. “An army, Stark. It’s a fucking army, marching through Tennessee.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut, winding him. He gasped for air. The room began to blur around him, filling with spots and dark edges, fluctuating like a tidal wave. Vaguely, he felt his back hit the wall as his knees went out from underneath him, but it didn’t matter as much as the wave of memories hit.

Titanic, dinosaur-like monsters with thousands and thousands of soldiers

that just kept coming

and coming.

He remembered being

alone

and scared, trying to say goodbye,

But it was too cold. 

So cold.

Couldn’t breathe.

So dark.

And he was

f

  a

     l

        l

           i

              n

                 g

                    .

“Stark? Stark?”

“Sir, I advise you to take ten deep breaths.” FRIDAY’s voice filtered into his brain.

”Deep breaths, got it,” he muttered, the numbness slowly receding from his hands and face.

”Stark, do I need to send Coulson in there to make sure you are fully capable of leading right now?” Fury asked.

”No, I’m good,” Tony replied automatically. He staggered to his feet, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. “In fact, I’m great. Where’s the threat?”

”Like I said: Tennessee.”

”I heard you. Where in Tennessee?”

”Rose Hill. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

”Always a pleasure working with you Fury. FRIDAY, end call.”

Sighing, he rubbed his face. It had been a long 48 hours without sleep, and it didn’t look like he’d be getting any anytime soon. “Well,” he told no one in particular. “Time to ruin breakfast.”

”The others appear to have already finished eating, sir,” FRIDAY informed him. “Agent Barton and Thor seem to be engaging in some sort of activity involving your muffins and the table—“

“Thanks, Fri. Tell them that we’re having a meeting in five minutes. I’m about to ruin their day.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha Romanoff was under the opinion that some people (Steve Rogers) were often too polite. Whenever someone said a cussword, he reprimanded them.

Natasha, on the other hand, believed that a few cusswords a day was beneficial to one’s health and welbeing. It let out pent up feelings, aptly described people, and helped put words to situations that couldn’t otherwise be classified in any other way.

For instance: when a large army of well trained soldiers dressed in blue fatigues on a decimation mission rip through Tennessee, and two assassins/SHIELD agents are completely surrounded ten to one, it’s only proper to say: 

“I fucking hate these guys!”

”Language!” Steve shouted into the intercomm, and Natasha rolled her eyes. Typical, Rogers. “FRIDAY, how’re things looking?

_“It_ _looks like the troops are forming some sort of barricade around the east side of the city. Soldiers appear to be carrying some sort of automatic assault weapon. Definitely not of this planet. There seems to be a figure in the center of the crowd that is rallying them.”_

“What’s our guy look like?” Tony asked. “Never mind, I see him. FRIDAY, give me everything you’ve got on this guy.”

_“The subject appears to be male, but I can’t identify the species.”_

“Great,” Clint muttered from where he stood next to her. _Agent Barton,_  she reminded herself. When in duty, being an agent always came first. That way, no attachments or sentimentalities could get you caught up and distracted from a mission. Duty first. If your partner got shot down, you reported to your superiors first before panicking.

She dodged a kick to the head and retaliated with a jab to the temple. The soldier went down. Another went for her, but Clint shot him in the gut before he even made it three feet. The two of them worked together like a well-oiled machine, each one knowing how the other worked, each one strong where the other one wasn't. It was the upside of having worked together for a little less than ten years.

"Hey," Clint said. "I've got an idea."

"Oh? What's that?" Another soldier fell under Natasha's widow bite. Tony had been perfecting the lethality of the electrical discharge so she could control the levels of the bite. If she used it at minimum capacity, it would give a small shock that would stun an opponent for a few seconds. Full capacity, and it could kill a fully grown elephant.

Right now, she was only using it to knock out the soldiers. If they turned out to be humans, that would be a casualty tally that she didn't want on her hands, for legal purposes obviously.

Clint was using his new arrows, the ones with the sedative stored in the shaft. When it hit an opponent, it transferred from the shaft to the tip, delivering the sedative and knocking them out. He hadn't shut up about them for the past week and a half. Right now, he knocked one of the arrows and hit the very last soldier in the shoulder. The guy stumbled and fell flat on his face, asleep. "You see that lot over there?”

Natasha looked up. The area Clint was pointing to was where the army was the most clogged. Years of working together made her hyper-aware of how his brain worked, and she understood. “You’re thinking of making a barricade?”

”Well, a wall of sleepy soldiers makes a pretty good wall.” He shrugged. “I could keep them in for a short while, which means the bad dude stays in one place, which also means Tony can get him. You hear that Tony?”

”Copy.” Tony’s voice crackled over the comms. “Well, if you can, also try to nail the guy yourself.”

”I’ll try.” Clint shouldered his quiver. “It might stop the troops.

Natasha could see the logic: take out the head, and the whole thing dies. 

“We’ll cover you,” she said.

“That’s a copy, Romanoff,” Clint said cheekily with a smirk before launching himself out from behind the car towards the lot’s stairwell. 

_Cocky little bastard,_  Natasha thought to herself.

She loaded several cartridges into the magazine of her gun. It was all muscle memory, now, as natural to her as brushing her teeth in the morning.

She waited, back against the wall, finger poised on the trigger for what seemed like an eternity, although it honestly had probably only been about thirty seconds. The moment Clint’s voice said, “ _Now!”_  she ditched her cover behind the van to roll to the caved in section of wall beside her. From there, the leap to the ground level was easy; just a ten-foot drop to the dirt below. No problem.

She dropped right into a pack of soldiers. Sweeping the legs out from the largest, she went about, shocking each one with her widow’s bite. One soldier decided to sneak up on her from behind. She grabbed his arm, flipped him over, and planted her boot on his chest.

The soldier groaned beneath her. In response, she pressed the stiff, unyielding rubber sole of her combat boot harder on his chest. He shut up. “Might want to pick up the pace here, boys.”

“Trying!” Steve panted over the comms. He grunted, and the sound of metal crashing against metal crackled through the tiny device. “These soldiers won’t stay down.”

”Yeah, I’m with Cap on this one,” Tony chimed in. “Wonder what would happen if I gave Fury a call and told him that we quit?”

”I’m not sure we want to see that reaction.” Clint. “Might be a bit nasty, considering that we’ve been committed to doing this for years.”

”Oh!” Tony zipped overhead, dragging two yelling soldiers behind him in a truck. “Has anyone seen the news lately?”

”I have,” Wanda supplied. The teen stood on the ground, holding a horde of soldiers at bay with the light from her hands. Natasha watched as she tossed one through the air. “The king of Wakanda is opening an outreach program in California.”

”You just stole all of my thunder,” Tony complained. “This conversation is now officially over.”

”But you just started—“ Wanda protested, but Tony cut her off. “Over! Clint, how we doing?”

”On the rooftop,” the archer responded. Natasha, who was sparring with another soldier, hooked her legs around the guy’s neck and flipped him to the ground. Delivering one final kick to an approaching soldier’s groin, she looked up. She could just make out Clint on the very top of the building nearby. Below, she saw a figure in yellow and green robes, easily the most colorful of them all.  _That must be the leader._ “Got him in my sights. He’s moved to the west side of the building.”

”Finally.” Steve sounded relieved. Natasha couldn’t blame him; she was exhausted. “Give ‘em hell, Barton.”

”Will do,” Clint replied. She watched as he took aim.

”Wait,” Tony prodded. “Is the great Steve Rogers _tired?_ ”

”We all are, Stark,” Steve said in a long suffering way, but his words faded to the back of her mind as her trained eyes honend in on the wizard.

The figure in green and yellow raised something up above his head. The metal gleamed in the sun. A sharp knife of panic stabbed her gut. “Wait,” Natasha said. “Clint hold your fire. He’s got a weapon on him.”

But Clint had already loosed the arrow. Natasha felt like someone had put the world in slow motion. The arrow flew toward the figure, the figure dropped the device.

“GET DOWN!” She screamed.

Then an explosion rocked the streets. The ground rolled beneath her feet as the shockwave carried her up into the air, slamming her hard into the side of the parking garage. The back of her head cracked against the concrete. The world turned bright, and then began to dim. The shouting over the comms faded as she sank into the blackness. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after the explosion. Also, a new factor is added into the mix.

Wanda Maximoff was having a really bad day. If she were being honest with herself, her problems started the night before, when she’d downed three enormous mugs of coffee after ten just so she could stay up and watch an entire season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. with Vision. Apparently, she passed out around five am from exhaustion, only to be woken up by him two hours later.

She knew she shouldn’t be pulling all nighters as often as she did. For one, it was detrimental to her health, as Vision often liked to remind her, and it also was probably going to catch up with her one of these days. But some nights she just couldn’t bring herself to sleep. It wasn’t that she was tired; she was exhausted all the time. 

All the Avengers but Cap, Vision, and Clint thought that she didn’t sleep because she was just another teenager addicted to the television. It was a rumor perpetuated by Tony, and she didn’t argue with it. Better let them think she was a hassle rather than a traumatized liability.

The real reason she didn’t sleep much was because she was afraid. Afraid of the nightmares that haunted her every time she closed her eyes. Afraid that every time her head hit the pillow, she would see her brother’s face, hear him laughing as he swept her up into his arms. Or worse, see him lying, cold as marble, shirt stained with scarlet, lying in the rubble of Sokovia in the wake of Ultron’s destruction.

She sometimes woke up, screaming her throat raw, hands flashing red at an enemy that didn’t exist save for in her head.

For someone who could show people their fears, she found it ironic that she had such a hard time controlling her own demons. 

The day before had been especially hard. It should have been wonderful, as it was her birthday, but it was agonizing. It was also Pietro’s birthday. The other Avengers hadn’t made that connection yet, though, and prepared her a cake and everything.

Each gift she opened was like a stab in the stomach, because it was her first birthday party since her parents had died, and Pietro wasn’t there to enjoy it with her. She could hear his voice echoing in her ears all day, gently ribbing her as she went to get her coffee, (“ _What, no coffee for your favorite brother?”_ ), complaining about the cake ( _“These people would not know what food looked like if it hit them in the face.”_ ), and, worst of all, talking right to her (“ _Happy Birthday, sister. But still, I am twelve minutes older than you.”)_

After the party, she had gone to her room under the facade of wanting to put away her new gifts, which included a Yankees baseball cap á la Steve, but had ended up in a crumpled heap on her bed, sobbing.

It was all too much. Then Vision had come. He promised her that if she wanted, she wouldn’t have to do anything for the rest of the day, but he insisted that she attended meals. He stayed true to his word, keeping the other Avengers away, shielding her from their prodding questions. When she teared up over a chocolate milkshake at dinner, he pulled her into her room and let her cry on his shoulder.

It was so stupid, crying over chocolate. But Pietro had loved chocolate.

For the rest of the night, the two of them sat together on her bed, her wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, him in a polo shirt and slacks. Since he didn’t need sleep, he was fine staying up all night watching sitcoms.

She, however, regretted it heavily the next morning. As exhausted as she was, the room blurred in and out of focus. Clint, running back and forth, smeared as he moved. And the _noise_ ; when the Avengers set their minds to it, they could be as loud as a ‘90s rock band on steroids. Thor seemed to think she was interested in decay, and Tony’s smoothie was _terrible._  Truly disgusting.

For the first time in a very long time, she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

Now, as she stood in the center of an exploding parking lot, her opinion hadn’t changed much. She still wanted to sleep, but she first had to survive.

The ground rolled beneath her feet like a tidal wave, tossing her into the air. She managed to stabilize herself with a blast of energy from her hands right before she hit the ground. The world righted itself, giving her a chance to look around at the whole situation.

Coincidentally, she'd made a protective bubble around herself right before the shockwave as protection against the soldiers. She had then used the force field as a weapon, sending shocks of energy off of it, like solar flares off the sun.

Later, she would realize that, as the person closest to the blast, this unconventional style of fighting probably saved her life.

Breathless, she took in her surroundings. Natasha was lying unconscious on the ground beside the parking deck. Steve was passed out by the construction site. Thor was collapsed admidst a pile of rubble, Mjolnir in his hand. The Hulk was also unconscious, lying in a ditch. All of the soldiers had somehow...vanished.

She looked up to the building where Clint had just been, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Dropping to the ground, she thrust out her hands, praying that her powers would work from this distance. There wasn’t time for anything else. Concentrating as hard as she could, she raised her hands, conjuring up the image of what she needed in her mind, shaping it, creating it from nothing. Her eyes flew open as a red pulse of light flew from her palms, a crackling orb racing towards the building, racing against time, against gravity until it caught the unconscious body of Clint Barton, a foot before he hit the ground.

The fissures in the ground were spreading to the city. The ground cracked beneath a lamppost, and the earth seemed to swallow the iron post whole.  _No,_  she thought. It was Lagos all over again. Reaching out, she imagined a wall between the fissures and the rest of the city. She sent the energy streaking through the sky like a lance. When it hit the point right before the growing cracks, it exploded, spreading itself into a protective wall. The rumbling ceased.

Relaxing her arms, she flew down to the unconscious Avengers, silently taking stock of everyone. Black Widow had a nasty bump on her head that would hurt like hell, but hopefully she would be all right.

Clint was fine thanks to the cushioning magic, but his hearing aids were MIA. He would definitely notice that once he woke up.

Cap didn’t have any injuries that Wanda could see immediately, so she figured that was a plus. Bruce was still green, but for the most part unscathed. She had to lift a lot of rubble off Thor, floating each of the enormous concrete slabs up and away from his prone body in order to, one, unpin him, and, two, inspect him further. He would have some nasty bruising, but no immediate damage. His breathing sounded normal.

She realized that she probably wasn’t the most qualified for this job, and that she could be missing some very serious internal problems, but she was the only thing they had. The citizens of the city were in their houses until further notice. Tony had made sure of that the moment they arrived.

Her head jerked up. _Oh god._ She had been so focused on tending to injuries and stopping the earthquake that she had forgotten one vital person.

Tony, she thought wildly. If he was in the air, and most likely unconscious, he could have fallen hard.

Or he could already be dead, said a tiny voice in the back of her head, but she shoved it aside.

Making sure that the five unconscious Avengers present were safe for the time being, she took off into the air, keeping her orb wrapped around her just in case not all the danger was gone. As much as she wished that she could shield the other Avengers as well, she didn't know if she could maintain them when she was somewhere else.

Flying was still a relatively new experience for her. At first, she had only been able to power a few long jumps. After joining the Avengers, she had begun to learn to control her powers, building endurance. It was like a muscle, only much more powerful. 

Rising above the treeline, she scanned the skies and ground for Tony, panic rising in her chest. _Maybe he went around the other side of the building,_  she thought.

But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the parking garage, either.

Or the construction site.

Or in the air.

He wasn’t in any of the lots.

Or anywhere she could spot him.

Her breathing came faster and faster the longer she looked for him. _If I were Tony, where would I be?_  He probably had some backup mechanism in his suit that prevented something like this from happening. But what if his suit shorted out? What if a fuse blew, or some stupid technological thing happened.

Wanda was finding it harder and harder to imagine all the scenarios that could have happened. She felt so far out of her league it wasn’t funny. She was still a teenager. She shouldn’t have to deal with being the only conscious person left on a super-powered team. They never covered this in her training.

And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered what would happen if a catastrophe struck, which seemed to happen quite frequently. She’d even come up with at least fifty _What if?_ scenarios in her head. But most of the scenarios in her mind ended with, _Find Steve or Tony. Ask Steve or Tony. They’ll know what to do_.

But what happened when Steve was passed out in a heap of muscled super-soldier, and Tony was nowhere-to-be-found?

“Tony!” she screamed, panic making it hard to breathe. _He can’t have fallen. He’s the leader. We’re not the Avengers without Tony._

A hand settled on her shoulder. She whipped around to find...Tony, still in his Iron-Man suit, seeming perfectly conscious.

The anger hit. “I spent FIVE MINUTES looking for you, leaving everyone else unprotected. I thought you were dead! What the hell, Stark?! You—“

 _“Miss Maximoff,_ ” said a voice that was decidedly not Tony’s. A jolt went through her as she realized it was _FRIDAY._   _“Boss is unconscious.”_

 “Oh,” Wanda said, the blood rushing to her face. “Okay.”

” _We must get the team to safety.”_

“Yeah, agreed. But what do we do?”

” _I suggest contacting SHIELD.”_

“Sam.” Relief flooded through Wanda with the idea. “I could call Sam.”

” _We must inform SHIELD.”_

“Can’t we do that after we... _oh.”_  They needed SHIELD to get out of there. Wanda didn’t know how to drive a quinjet, and she didn’t want to be the one to test run if FRIDAY could do more unassisted. “We should call SHIELD.”

_“Wait.”_

Wanda froze, partially lowered to the ground.

_”There appears to be another contraption on the east side of the building with the same chemical fingerprint as the bomb.”_

Wanda cursed. “Show me.”

Tony’s suit zipped around the building Clint had used. It struck Wanda as kind of creepy that Tony’s unconscious body was still inside the suit, flopping around. She tried not to think about it and soared behind.

 _“There._ ” The AI pointed. Wanda floated closer. From her position, it looked like a metal orb roughly the size of a bowling ball had been stuffed hastily inside of a dumpster. The top was left open, exposing the contraptions grooved surface, especially shiny amid the dull brown of the bin.

She floated lower, touching down gently. If she wasn’t mistaken, the odd inscription on the side looked just like—

She gasped and took a step back. She tripped, landing hard on her back.

”FRIDAY,” she said. “FRIDAY, I think—“

_Pop!_

The insignia on the side of the ball popped open, and a white-ish gas began to pour from the opening.

” _Miss Maximoff!”_  FRIDAY’s voice sounded more alarmed than an AI was programmed to sound. _“Miss Maximoff, step away now. I failed to detect the chemical inside, but it appears to be a biological weapon. It is spreading ten times faster than normal gases should be able to.”_

The odorless gas filtered around Wanda. FRIDAY was right; the gas seemed alive, almost, lashing out with precision. The moment it reached Wanda, she felt an immediate tightening in her chest. “FRIDAY! The citizens!”

The AI didn’t respond, only said, _“You must evacuate the area as quickly as possible.”_  She began to fly away with the suit, probably getting Tony to safety.

Wanda knew she should go. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. Her lungs felt like they were shrinking by the minute. The buildings around her seemed to grow and grow until they looked ten times bigger than before. It was very disorienting. Bruce might know what was going on. He would probably have an explanation that involved chemicals and equations that made her head hurt. Wanda had no idea what was going on. But she knew one thing for sure: the gas could not reach the town.

”Wanda!”

She turned around. The rest of the team, including Tony stood at the far end of the parking lot. Bruce was back to his normal size, wearing only his baggy pants.

”Wanda, get away from there!” Steve shouted. He started down the hill to the parking lot, but the gas reached him first.

Wrapping around him like tendrils, it smothered him until he was completely encased in fog. Bruce was next, and the scientist grabbed his throat as the fog coiled around him like a boa-constrictor around its prey. Natasha attempted to struggle for a second before the fog swallowed her, too.

Wanda watched in horror, until something snapped her out of it. She couldn’t save her friends now, but she could save the city. Reaching her arms out, she tried something she hadn’t tried since Lagos, when the mission had gone haywire. Tendrils of red embedded themselves in the smog, effectively trapping it from the inside out.

Then she pulled.

It was excruciating. The gas didn’t want to move. It struggled against her, pushing and pulling, writhing like a cat getting a bath. But she was stronger. She had to be. This was just a stupid cloud of evil gas, and she was an Avenger.

With a scream of anger, she drove her hold deeper into the gas, forcing it upwards and into the sky. It seemed to her that the cloud gave a great howl as it shot skyward before dissipating.

Steve lay prone on the ground, but he didn’t look like he normally did, all muscular and buff and blonde. Instead, he looked _tiny_.

Wanda’s head swam. Why was Natasha’s hand so small? She didn’t remember Clint looking so young before. Mjolnir looked enormous in Thor’s hands. And her own hands...

She looked down at her hands. They were the hands of a child; stubby fingers and nails, tiny joints, delicate wrists. And she was practically swimming in her clothes.

The gas’s effects hit her with full force, toppling her to the ground. Darkness washed over her, and Wanda Maximoff finally got to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil Coulson is faced with the most challenging moment of his career: babysitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Been a couple weeks. I’m going to try to make the updates more consistent. I’m going to edit this further, so please don’t kill me for the mistakes. I promise I will fix them, along with my wonderful friend Samuel, who is being a saint and proof-reading.  
> Constructive criticism always welcome.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> \- Silver Chitauri

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THEY _SHRANK_?!” Nick Fury roared, pacing the room. 

Phil Coulson winced from his position at the conference table.

Ten minutes ago, Nick Fury had called Phil and Maria Hill an emergency meeting involving the Avengers’ mission in Rose Hill, Tennessee.

As an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., he had to be prepared for just about anything, because, as an agent, anything could go wrong.

Going on a lunch date? Always carry your gun just in case your date turns out to be an assassin in disguise. Grocery shopping? Bring a voice recorder, because that squirrely looking guy over there could be selling government secrets. The movie theater?

Forget it. The dark leaves everyone too vulnerable for attack.

It was a very paranoid profession, but it was his profession, and he’d gotten far in life with it.

So when they got the call, he had prepared himself for the worst.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

A call was on speaker, projecting loudly throughout the room silent save for Nick Fury’s footsteps.

“The team appears to have undergone some form of cellular de-aging, sir,” replied the woman’s voice on the other end of the line. Her accent had a pleasant Irish lilt to it. “I can’t figure out to what extent this has happened, but it seems to have affected their emotional state, not their intellectual state.”

Nick Fury was living right up to his name. He was fuming with, well, fury. His pacing was becoming more brisk and frantic, though his expression stayed stoically stoney. ”How the hell are you even driving? Is there someone else there with you?”

”None of the Avengers are in a state where it would be safe to let them drive. Mr. Stark programmed an autopilot sequence in me in case there was a situation in which everyone able to drive the quinjet was incapacitated. Like now, for instance.”

The person on the other end of the conference was, well, not a person, per se. More of a software. One very charismatic software.

”What did you say your name was, again?” Phil asked. 

“FRIDAY, sir,” replied the voice. “I am Mr. Stark’s AI system. I take care of much of the technological procedures. I was the one who answered

“Another one of Stark’s toys.” Fury paced the room some more. Phil was sure that he had hair, he would be pulling it out in clumps. 

“What’s their status?” Fury demanded 

“I said, the team appears to be in some form of—“

”Yeah, I got that part. Are they safe?”

”All of the team is currently accounted for and aboard the quinjet at this time. The age-regression seems to have ceased for the time being, and there are no immediate life-threatening injuries.”

The smallest victories could be blessings. 

“Where are you headed right now?

“We are on course to the Avengers Tower.” 

Fury nodded before turning back to the screens. “Got that, Thursday.”

”It’s FRIDAY, sir. Would you like me to update you on their current status?”

”Yeah, how ‘bout you do that.”

”The quinjet is manned with cameras in every room. I can pull up real-time footage of the quinjet, if you’d like.”

”Well, why didn’t you do that in the first place?” Fury threw his hands up in exasperation and resumed his pacing. 

Maria Hill lifted her hand like she was in grade school. “Wait, you can’t do that. How are you planning on getting into the software?”

A pause. Then, “Sir requested that I not reveal that information to any outside parties.”

”Did he, now?" Nick Fury raised the eyebrow above his patch. Phil could detect an undercurrent of "pissed off" vibe in his tone. "Well, ‘sir’ is now a—how old is he?”

”Sir appears to have to body construct and cellular make-up of an eleven year old male.”

Phil would have laughed at the horrified look on Nick Fury’s face if the situation hadn’t been so urgent.

The older agent rubbed his temples. “Well, Thursday, ‘sir’ is an eleven-year-old boy, and I’m the _grown-ass_ director of S.H.I.E.L.D., so you better tell me right now how the hell Stark managed to access the mainframe of a major government agency.”

FRIDAY managed to sound exasperated when she said, ”Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner accessed the data while searching the world for energy signatures from the Tesseract during the first stages of the Avengers Initiative. Mr. Stark had a reason to believe that S.H.I.E.L.D. was using the Tesseract to create weapons of mass destruction, and so he managed to, with help from Dr. Banner, override the coding sequence that makes up the code protection by using an algorithm derived from—“

”All right, enough,” Phil cut her off. “We got it. We can grill Stark on it later when he’s...better. We just need to get them back to headquarters safely, and then we can decide what to do next.”

”If they get back safely,” Maria chimed in helpfully.

Phil shot her a glare. ”Not helping.”

The AI ignored all of this. “Would you like the surveillance feed?” she asked politely.

”Yes, do that please,” Hill responded.

Phil knew from years of working with her that her outwardly calm and seemingly composed demeanor was just a mask, her own method of coping. But it reassured him all the same.

“Here is the quinjet right now, Director.”

The screen on the far end of the conference wall lit up and several windows of Java script appeared on its face. Hacking.

Nick Fury shook his head at the sight. “Stark, you sonuvabitch,” he muttered. Phil couldn’t tell if he looked slightly amused or just pissed off.

Whatever it was, all traces of amusement disappeared from the director’s face when the screen on the other side of the room lit up.

Phil felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

There was the quinjet, stocked with ammo, with a top-of-the-line console and steering system.

A few seats were lined up facing the front of the jet. Perched on the top of one of one of said seats was a very small child.

A young boy, all skinny limbs and small shoulders, a blanket around him. Baby blue eyes were fixed blankly on a spot somewhere across the room; tousled blonde hair stuck up everywhere.

A small girl, hair streaked with auburn had her head rested on his shoulder, sound asleep. 

Another boy with darker hair and wide doe-like eyes sat in the cockpit as if he were steering the ship, although Phil knew he wasn’t. His feet swung back and forth, back and forth a few inches above the floor. A small circle of bluish light radiated from beneath the blanket.

At the very back, two kids, one a boy with curly black hair, the other a younger girl, were crouched in the corner.

The boy had a set of headphones over his head. The headphones were way too big for his head, and they kept slipping down until he gave up and just held them up to his ears.

They were so _tiny_.

Gathering himself, Phil turned to his superiors. What he saw lined up with he felt. Resignation was evident in every line on Nick Fury’s face. Maria Hill had her head buried in her hands.

Phil didn’t feel much better.

He opened his mouth, about to say something productive, something about arrangements and plans. But then his brain caught up with his emotions as he ran the numbers. There were six, not seven, members of the team visible.

“Where’s Barton.”

”Agent Barton appears to be hiding, sir,” she replied. 

“Yeah, that’s great, but where is he?” Unreasonable levels of panic were building in Phil’s chest.

If he remembered correctly, Clint’s childhood hadn’t been all that fantastic. Something about an abusive parent and a backstabbing brother. And a circus.

”He is in the ceiling of the quinjet, sir.”

Phil wasn’t sure he heard the last words correctly. “What did you say?”

”I said, he is in the ceiling of the quinjet, sir.”

” _In the_ —well, how the hell did he get up there?”

”Agent Barton is quite good at climbing, and due to his small size, he has managed to squeeze in between the piping of the craft.” She managed to sound apologetic. “I’m sorry, I did try to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

”No,” Phil said. He was only beginning to realize the urgency of the situation.

He pushed himself up from his chair and made his way to the door, grabbing his coat on the way. “It’s not that he didn’t listen. He just didn’t hear you.”

He stopped just short of the door. “Is Na—Agent Romanoff with him?”

Maria shot him a warning look which he ignored as Friday replied quizzically, “Agent Romanoff is currently with Dr. Banner, sir.”

” _That’s_  Banner?” He rubbed his eyes. “Hell.” 

“The quinjet has arrived at the tower,” FRIDAY announced. Phil stood up again. These...kids, they were now his responsibility more than ever. He had to be there for them. He turned to go.

”Agent Coulson.” Fury’s voice was quiet but powerful. Phil turned to see the senior agent, now slumped in his chair, hands steepled on the table in front of him.

Phil often forgot Nick Fury’s true age. In both S.H.I.E.L.D. and the military, age didn’t matter so much as what rank someone was. Older agents were usually ranked above younger ones, having had more time to climb the ladder, but it wasn’t completely unheard of to have a high-ranking agent that was on the young side.

Nick Fury was one of those people who sometimes seemed ageless.

Not that he didn’t look old; he did, but nobody would ever tell that to his face if they valued the prospect of having kids. It was just the energy that he exuded could be one of a thirty-year-old, plus the work ethic and experience of a seasoned agent.

Right at that moment, Phil realised just how old the man was. His face was worn and haggard with bags as pronounced as Stark’s. He was a broad man, strong and way taller than Phil himself, and none of that had changed over the years.

But slumped in the chair, shoulders dropping, he looked a little smaller.

This just strengthened the deep respect Phil had for the man. “Sir?” he replied.

Fury regarded him with his eye. He said, “I’m leaving it up to you to make sure they’re safe for the time being. Backup will arrive shortly. We’re going to need someone to look after them. They can’t be expected to look after themselves in this state.”

"I’ll take them.”

It took a few confused moments for Phil to realize that he had said the words.

Shit! What was he thinking? He couldn’t take on kids, much less super-powered ones, much less seven of them.

Taking in the tiny Avengers would mean meals he didn’t how to or have time to cook, extra sets of tiny clothes, endless energy, endless patience, endless destruction, and a whole lot more time. It would be a lot of responsibility.

No, he couldn’t take them in. He could hardly take care of himself. He was too cynical for children, to much of a spy to be fun for them, too normal to deal with their problems.

They were freaking super-heroes. They carried shields and hammers and flew through the sky saving the world.

What was he, again? A jaded, world-worn S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who was best at carrying on conversations about guns, ammo, and missions. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t manage this.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one surprised by his outburst. Nick Fury looked downright boggled as he goggled at him like he’d been body-snatched by aliens.

It wouldn’t be the first time that sort of thing happened.

Maria Hill was frozen with her hand halfway to her comms. Her normally neutral expression was gone, replaced with an almost comically astonished expression, complete with an O-shaped mouth and wide eyes.

He knew he was acting absolutely insane, but deep down something about it felt right. 

He didn’t want that kind of responsibility sitting on Fury or Hill’s shoulders. They were the directors, for God’s sake, and that was the last thing they needed hovering over them.

Plus, he was the agent responsible for the Avengers Initiative, after all. It was his duty to take care of any S.H.I.E.L.D. related issues that happened within and without.

That included being a temporary baby-sitter, though he hadn’t known that when he signed on.

But it was sealed now. There was no turning back.

Fury blinked, before turning to the screen like nothing had happened. “You got that Thursday?”

”FRIDAY, sir. And yes.”

”Great,” Fury said with a decided air about him. He seemed extremely relieved, whereas Phil was about to explode from stress. “Well, then you’d better head over there now.”

”Coulson,” Maria said, catching his arm. A concerned expression was on her face. “Are you sure about this?”

No, Phil thought, but something about it felt right. “Yes,” he found himself replying. “I mean, I can stay at the Tower, right? The thing is that this means it’ll be pretty hard to clock in during the week days.”

”No need,” said Fury. “You’re doing us a favor enough. This is work.”

Phil nodded gratefully. “Thank you, boss.”

Heading out the door, he began to process his situation as he walked through the halls. 

He didn’t know how any of this played out, but he expected it to be somewhat of an adventure. He couldn’t figure out if that was a good thing or not.

Whatever it was going to happen, Phil was pretty sure he had no control of what happened next.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biggest question so far:  
> Where’s Peter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Brought me back to the nostalgia that is Homecoming. Sorry that it’s short

_Message sent at 10:15 AM yesterday:_

Underoos: hey mr stark!

 

Underoos: got my homework done yesterday so im patrolling today

 

Underoos: ned wanted to know if your suit had infrared vision or a heat signal

 

Underoos: if it doesnt you should totally add that. and laser beams

 

Underoos: did you know that the first laser was made in california in 1960

 

Underoos: you probably knew that. i just thought it was cool  

 

Underoos: anyway, text you later

 

_Message sent at 12:26 PM yesterday:_

Underoos: hey mr stark!

 

Underoos: some bad guys were trying to steal a kids wallet. a car almost tboned a semi. five people jaywalked across the same intersection in five minutes

 

Underoos: _Five_

 

Underoos: does it count as jay walking if youre walking on the telephone wires?

 

 

_Message sent at 2:45 PM yesterday:_

Underoos: hey mr stark!

 

Underoos: something funny happened today

 

Underoos: this old lady had a dog. really tiny and fluffy. saved them from being run over by a car

 

Underoos: you know star trek? you know that episode about those fluffy balls? looked kinda like them

 

Underoos: trubbles, i think theyre called

 

Underoos: no, wait theyre called tribbles

 

Underoos: lady was rlly sweet, too. asked me to help her with her phone

 

 

_Message sent at 5:03 PM yesterday:_

Underoos: hey mr stark!

 

Underoos: saw on the news today about some weird invasion in tennessee

 

Underoos: hope you guys cleared it up okay

 

 

_Message sent at 7:30 PM yesterday:_

Underoos: mr stark?

 

Underoos: you there?

 

Underoos: did i do something wrong?

 

Underoos: im sorry about the star trek reference

 

Underoos: may said that you guys saved rose hill

 

Underoos: are you hurt?

 

Underoos: was i supposed to come

 

Underoos: or not

 

Underoos: is there anything i can do?

 

Underoos: please tell me youre okay

 

 

_Message sent at 8:07 PM yesterday:_

Parker: hey happy?

 

Parker: is mr stark okay?

 

Parker: i havent heard from him for almost two days 

 

Parker: i mean i know you dont really read my messages

 

Parker: but mr stark usually does

 

Parker: you probably arent reading these right now

 

Happy: I’m reading them, kid

 

Parker: happy!!! whew i was starting to get worried

 

Parker: the teams fine, right?

 

Parker: i mean, theyre not hurt or anything

 

Parker: ...right?

 

Happy: No kid, the team is not fine

 

Parker: ohmygod are they okay? are they hurt? is mr stark okay? can i help with anything?

 

Happy: No, just stay with your aunt. I’ve got everything taken care of

 

Parker: but can i help at all?

 

Happy: _No._  S.H.I.E.L.D. can take care of more than enough, I think

 

Parker: _SHIELD???_ why is shield there?

 

Happy: There were...complications, kid. You don’t need to worry about it

 

Parker: sounds like i do if shields there

 

Parker: can i at least come over?

 

Happy: No.

 

Parker: please?

 

Happy: No.

 

Parker: pleeeaaaasssseee???? :(

 

Happy: No!

 

Parker: fine

 

Parker: ...but theyre not dying, are they?

 

Happy: No kid, they’re not dying.

 

Parker: ok, thank you

 

Happy: Now go be with your aunt

 

Parker: promise me youll update me?

 

Happy: No promises.

 

Parker: thanks happy!!

 

 

_Message sent at 12:02 AM:_

Happy: Kid, change of plans

 

Parker: huh?

 

Happy: Yeah, boss says you can come over

 

Parker: really??!!

 

Happy: Yeah, you heard me.

 

Parker: ohmygod, for real?

 

Happy: _Yes._  Now stop sounding like a teenage girl and get the heck out of there. I’m coming over to pick you up. Pack a bag.

 

Parker: how long will I be staying?

 

Happy: As long as the boss wants you to. Or until you want to go home. Though I suspect, knowing you, that you’ll want to live here.

 

Parker: what do i tell may?

 

Happy: We’re on top of that. She thinks you’re going on another retreat with the boss.

 

Parker: this is so cool!

 

Happy: Yeah, get down here. And remember, it’s not going to be pretty.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrives at the tower.  
> Things escalate quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading. You guys make everything so much more fun.  
> Sorry it’s so short. Kinda at a block here. Feedback always helps!

The moment Peter saw Happy’s expression, all of his prior enthusiasm vanished with dark shadows beneath the man’s eyes.

The man looked exhausted. 

Well, he always looked exhausted. Not that Peter would ever tell him that, but he wasn’t exactly the most carefree person the world had to offer. But he was definitely more exhausted looking than normal. His eyes were bloodshot, features strained and furrowed. The buttons on his suit were mismatched, and the city lights washed over the haggard lines carved into his face. 

Peter finished dragging his duffel across the sidewalk. He paused at the edge of the curb, awkwardly shifting his backpack to his other shoulder. “Um.”

Happy rushed forward, grabbed his duffel bag, and shoved it in the open trunk before closing it with a decisive _clunk_. “Well? Come on. What are you waiting for? We don’t have all day.”

”It’s night,” Peter reminded him absentmindedly, completely aware that it didn’t have anything to do with anything, and mostly trying to figure out what could make Tony Stark’s usually uptight right-hand-man even more uptight than usual. “Happy, are you okay?”

”Now’s not the time for catching up, kid,” he replied gruffly. “Get _in_.”

Peter slid silently into the backseat of the vehicle. The partition between separating him from the front seat was down, meaning he could see Happy’s face as he started the car. Yeah, definitely more tired than normal.

That was different from the first time he’d ridden in this car. He was fifteen back then, still starstruck by the very idea of leaving the country, of meeting the heroes that were his role models. Just another enthusiastic teen who loved science, wore nerdy T-shirts, and got excited when one of his heroes actually noticed him, and just happened to have powers.

He’d vlogged almost the whole trip, nerding out so much that Happy rolled up the partition between them.

Now, though, the partition was down. He was seventeen, a little wiser, probably not much more mature. He’d learned, though, from Mr. Stark, the Vulture, even from Happy. Enough that they trusted him when they were weak.

That meant a lot, in Peter’s books.

Not that he actually knew what was going on.

”Hey, Happy?” He shifted forward in his seat.

”Mmm?”

”What exactly happened to the team?” Peter shifted in his seat, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. It was one of his favorites, loved until the fabric frayed and holes appeared at the hems, the words _If you believe in telekinesis, please raise my hand_  in bold block letters across the front. “I mean, I know it was kinda big, and probably not too good judging the way Mr. Stark didn’t answer me, or by the look on your face, or by how tired you look-“ _Wrong thing to say, Peter._  “-I just mean, if anything’s not okay, is there anything I can do? What’s going on? Can I help...or not...” He trailed off as Happy shot him a murderous look.

They sat for a little while before the silence started to get to Peter again. So he did what he did best. He rambled.

”I know that things have been maybe okay since the V–the thing that happened. I mean, I just hoped he wasn’t still angry at me for the ferry thing, although it was kind of a problem to be honest. And then I heard the Rogue Avengers came back, and the Accords were dissolved, because they talked about it in school. And then I met them. Are they okay? Is Wanda okay?”

He had met Wanda during one of the Avengers’ “victory parties,” and they clicked almost immediately. Maybe it was because they were around the same age. She was only a year or two older than him, compared to Tony’s forty-seven years, Cap’s ninety-something years, and Thor’s one thousand-plus years. 

”Ned’s super excited. When the Hulk came back, he just freaked out. I’m glad Dr. Banner’s back, too, because I haven’t met him, but I love his essays. And—and I just don’t want them to be hurt,” he finished quietly. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

”I’m gonna have to let the boss tell you on that.”

”Happy, please.”

”No.”

”You said that before and changed your mind. Can you please do that again? It worked last time.”

”No, I can’t, Parker.” Happy started to turn around before he caught himself. Facing the road again, he glared at Peter in the rear-view mirror. “The last time the boss gave me the okay. This time, I have nothing to go off of. If I give up confidential information—“

”But Mr. Stark isn’t here!” Peter protested. “And I’m about to walk into a situation that I have no idea about—“

”You’re the one who signed up for it.”

”—and he’s clearly not okay, otherwise he would’ve answered me, and he would’ve told me himself, rather than you calling for him. So if I‘m going to be available to help, I need to know _what’s going on_. _”_

There was a pause. Happy took a left turn.

Then, “Okay, but you've gotta stay calm.”

 _Probably going to panic, then,_  Peter deduced. _Okay._

“They’re kids.”

Peter’s blood froze in his veins. “What? Wh-what do you mean, they’re kids?”

”They got turned into kids. Like, really little kids or don't-act-like-adults-at-all kind of kids. Agent Romanoff is about eight, Dr. Banner's nine, Cap and Thor are eleven or so, the boss is ten, Agent Barton is nine, and Wanda is about six.”

Peter couldn't help it: he panicked.

 

He was still panicking ten minutes later when they pulled up to the front of the Avengers Tower, which was still awesome no matter how many times he’d seen it. He’d like to think he could be called a regular. Having roughly ten minutes to prepare himself for whatever waited for him (thanks a lot, Happy) gave him an appreciation for how very, very terrible this situation was.

Happy was out of the car in an instant, shoving Peter’s bags into his arms and rushing to open the doors for him. Peter was a bit more hesitant, Jansport bookbag slung over one shoulder and duffel stuffed with spare clothes, his pajamas, toothbrush, toothpaste, and suit (you can never be too optimistic) over the other.

The Tower’s lobby, like the rest of the building, was a masterpiece of architectural genius, from the shiny metallic floors to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. Since it was a Sunday night, or Monday morning if you were being technical, the place was vacant, giving it the eerie, detached beauty of an ice crystal cave. Empty and quiet.

Peter began to rethink staying here overnight. It would get pretty lonely after a while, with only a few people filling 93 stories. There was always FRIDAY to keep you company, though.

 _Ding_.

Peter jumped as the elevator behind him slid open and a boy walked out. His felt his heart plummet all the way to Challenger Deep (the deepest place on Earth at 10,916 meters; he couldn’t resist the science joke).

This boy was Anthony Edward Stark.

His cheeks were round with youth, tiny slender hands fiddling with the hem of his too-big T-shirt. A bluish glow radiated from beneath the worn, grease-stained fabric. His eyes were like a doe's, with floofy dark hair and a very serious face devoid of any traditional Tony Stark facial hair.

Peter had always thought of Mr. Stark as...not strong exactly. That was Steve and Bucky. But he was large as life in his attitude, his drive, his intense intelligence. All of this together with his confidence filled out Mr. Stark’s shoulders, puffed his chest, darkened his silhouette.

The boy that stood in front of Peter was all thin slumping shoulders, scuffling shoes, and downcast eyes.

It was _so weird_.

Part of Peter wasn’t processing that this was his mentor (and kinda dad-like figure?) standing in front of him, because this adorable little boy could _not_  be the cynical master of puns and quips that the world knew as Iron Man. 

But the arc reactor in the boy's chest said otherwise.

The boy stood awkwardly in front of them. That wasn’t right. Mr. Stark wasn’t awkward. Mr. Stark didn’t fidget when he met Peter’s eyes, or shuffle his feet when he stood in one place for too long. Mr. Stark had charisma, confidence, a presence that filled the room. He would never say anything like, “Umm, h-hey. Thanks for coming, I guess. Yeah.”

Peter couldn’t help but stare. This were so many things so very, very wrong about this. The boy looked up at the horrified teen before averting his eyes and rubbing his neck. “Yeah, um, I’ll be in my room. Thanks again.”

And then he walked off. Just like that. No, “hi Peter, thanks for coming.” No, “Kid, you should be in bed.” All of the reassuring _adultness_  of Tony Stark was gone, leaving in his wake a child who was just as unsure of himself as the teenager in front of him, who didn’t have the courage to chase after him, demand answers. Mr. Stark just looked so small. And lost.

He listened as the elevator doors  _ding_ ed open and FRIDAY’s voice said, “Where to, Boss?”

“My apartment,” came Tony’s soft voice.

”Sure thing.” FRIDAY had taken on an almost motherly tone, Peter thought. The doors slid closed.

Peter whirled on Happy.

”Tell me everything.”

 

* * *

 

Peter had seen some really weird shit.

He’d been turned into a superhero via a radioactive spider that mutated his genetic makeup. His idol and hero had enlisted his help in fighting a battle between some of the world’s most powerful heroes (that got resolved a few months later, but whatever). The Vulture had crashed his homecoming date by being his date’s dad, throwing a building on top of him, and dragging him around the city on a hijacked airplane.

But nothing compared to the weirdness he found in the living room of the Tower.

He didn’t say much more than a “hi” to the kids. A skinny blonde boy was staring out the window. He barely spared Peter a glance, but when he did, Peter recognized the young face of Steve Rogers. Thin and pale, the living legend looked a bit older than Tony had. Next to him sat a girl with short, chin-length hair the color of dying flames. Had to be Natasha. She didn’t even turn around.

By comparison, a smaller boy, with unruly black curls and huge headphones over his head, nearly shot three feet in the air when Peter approached him. He fumbled the headphones, tripped over the coffee table, and shot out of the room like a bullet.

Dr. Banner.

A boy with longish hair was huddled on one of the barstools. Mjolnir sat beside him on the counter like a ridiculous countertop decoration. There was something dejected about the light-hearted Asgardian.

But Wanda hit Peter the hardest.

Rounding the corner into the common room, he almost tripped over a small bundle of a child curled up against the wall. He fetched up on the side of the dining table before turning around.

The girl cowered. She couldn’t have been more than six or seven, with long brown hair highlighted with undertones of hazel and huge brown eyes

But despite the horror of the entire situation, Peter’s heart melted a little at the sight of her. Okay, melted quite a bit. All that was left of his emotions was a giant, sticky puddle of mushy agony. From what he’d heard, Wanda was 90% the reason any of them had gotten out of there alive. She had put herself in harm’s way in order to defend the town, creating an energy barrier that contained the foreign halogens within the battlesite, but at the moment, he was having a hard time believing that this tiny, adorable, harmless girl could do any of that stuff.

Until he knelt down on the ground next to her, and her eyes flashed bright red. When she recognized him, the red glow faded, but Peter was still terrified. Wanda must’ve noticed, because she curled into a tighter ball, hurt evident by the tears pooling in her eyes. Peter, at a loss for words, had to move on with Happy.

When Happy and Peter had passed through the main living room, Peter once again turned to him, burning with questions and horror, but Happy got there first. “We don’t have a lot of time. I need you to listen to me. Vision’s in Wakanda getting some upgrades to his vibranium structure or something, so Wanda’s at loose ends. We’ve got to hold down the fort until he gets back.”

“But why are they _tiny?!”_  Peter’s voice squeaked up several octaves. “What happened to them? Wha-how are they so _cute?_  They’re not supposed to be cute!”

Happy grabbed him by the arm, clearly running out of patience. “Kid, focus. Okay? We’re probably some of the oldest people in the building, aside from Coulson, Pepper, Wilson, and Colonel Rhodes. I know this is weird, but we’ve gotta have you on top of your game for them. If you wanna be here, you’ve gotta be prepared to take charge. Got it?”

“This is so wrong,” Peter mumbled. He wasn’t supposed to see his idols like this. They were supposed to be strong and confidant, heroes ready to jump into battle, an example of true courage and bravery in the face of death, not vulnerable, raw, exposed. Like a wound.

”Kid!” 

He took a deep breath. Never had he imagined he would meet the Avengers like this, yet here they were. This was his chance to prove himself. He could do this. “Yeah, I’m good. I got this.”

 

He didn’t “got” it. He was so far from handling any of this that it was depressingly hilarious.

He was only about an hour in, and he was already debating whether or not to start throwing a temper tantrum himself.

Peter had no idea what to do with kids. He didn't have any siblings, nor had he ever worked with little kids. Science was much more fun. With a nine-year old, an eight-year old, and a six-year old (Bruce, Natasha, and Wanda) clambering on top of him as he tried to get them to go back to bed, nothing seemed to be going right.

Part of the problem was Natasha. Most of the problem, actually. Bruce was fine. He just listened to opera music and tried to fall asleep, but Natasha wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t cooperate with anything Peter asked her to do, whether it be not jumping on the bed, not pulling at Bruce’s hair (Peter was panicked that the doctor might turn green), or not yelling at him in Russian.

Another thing: why couldn’t they leave another person in charge that spoke Russian? Steve spoke Russian. Someone else had to speak Russian. _Peter didn’t speak any Russian._  And Natasha wouldn’t speak English. He wasn’t sure if she was being stubborn or if she really didn’t remember how to.

Which might explain why Wanda, born and raised in Sokovia, was so unresponsive.

Wanda wouldn’t stop crying. Like, literally, had not stopped sobbing for thirty whole minutes for reasons Peter had yet to figure out. He had no idea that crying could mean so many things. Was it like with babies? Did she want formula, or a hug, or (God forbid) for someone to change her diapers? Did kids that age even _wear_  diapers?

He didn't want to know. All he knew was that, by some miracle, Bruce had fallen asleep, Natasha was sullenly tucked in, and Wanda was on his lap, wailing away like an Irish banshee.

He awkwardly stroked her back as she got tear-stains all over his sleep shirt. “Sh, sh, it’s okay.” He paused. “Or not, but that’s okay, too. Jeez, I’m really messing this up, aren’t I?”

Wanda didn’t respond, but she had quieted down some.

”All right, I really want to help, but I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

More sniffling.

He sighed. Honestly, he preferred when Natasha was jumping on the bed.

“Peter?”

He looked up to see Agent Coulson standing in the doorway. The poor man looked as exhausted as Peter felt. “Yeah?”

”We’ve got a dilemma. Can you help?”

”I’ve got Wanda—“ He broke off. Wanda was now fast asleep in his arms, having probably worn herself (and Peter) out. “Aww, are you kidding? The moment I stop paying attention to her—“

”You good?”

”Yeah,” he responded. “It’s just—never mind. Whatcha need?”

“Like I said, a problem’s come up.” Phil motioned towards the hallway. “Happy and I’ll tell you outside. Or Mr. Hogan. Whatever you call him.”

”Happy,” Peter confirmed. He lowered the sleeping Wanda bundle down onto her bed, pulled up the covers, and made sure she was positioned so that she wouldn’t fall off in the middle of the night. Then he crept out of the room after Phil, shutting the door with a small _click_  behind him.

Was this how Aunt May felt right after his parents died? After Uncle Ben? Shutting the door quietly so she wouldn’t wake a grieving child still in shock. Standing out in the hallway, feeling like the whole world’s weight rested on her shoulders. It was a bit eye-opening for Peter.

“What’s the problem?” he whispered. Phil shook his head. _Not here._

Peter followed him out of the corridor and into the elevator.

The ride upward was awkward. Peter didn’t know very much about Agent Phil Coulson. Only that he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., made sure the Avengers didn’t do anything stupid, and was close to Clint and Natasha. The man was still a mystery, one large question mark in Peter’s mind, but he didn’t seem all that bad.

They were silent for a moment, then, “You’re good with kids.”

”Umm.” That was the last thing Peter was expecting. He shifted uncomfortably, scratching his neck. “Uh, yeah, about that. I’m not, really. Good with kids, that is. I-I don’t really know what to do with them. They kinda confuse me. I don’t have siblings or anything, so don’t get a lot of time with them.”

Peter could swear the corner of Coulson’s mouth lifted up. “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

They rode the rest of the way up in silence. When they reached their floor, the agent led the young vigilante to a small conference room.

”Woah.” Peter inspected the immaculate glass walls and equally immaculate conference table. “I didn’t know we even had these here.”

”Boss doesn’t use them much.”

Peter jumped. Happy sat quietly in one of the chairs. He waved a hand at Peter. _Sit down._

Peter lowered himself slowly into one of the chairs. It was comfy, with cushioning leather seats and seamless rolling action with the wheels. No sticking or catching. Peter started spinning.

”So,” he said, staring at the ceiling lights whirling above him. “What’s the big issue?”

“Other than the seven children sitting in traumatized huddles in this tower?” Coulson leaned forward. “We’ve come across a problem.”

”Ya said that. What _is_  the problem.”

”We are missing our two smartest scientists. And, with no way to turn them back, we have...well, no way to figure out how to turn them back. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s stuck.”

Peter’s foot caught on a leg of the chair and he swung to a halt. “Oh. That is a problem.”

“Yes, it is.” Coulson’s tone implied that he was speaking to a two-year old, which totally wasn’t fair. Peter wasn’t the youngest in the building, anymore, which was kind of a scary thought.

”So, we find other scientists.” Peter started spinning again, but this time, the gears in his mind spun with swivel.

”The kid’s good at science,” Happy chimed in.

”HAPPY.”

”What? I’m just sayin’. You could help.”

”I’m-I’m in school! I haven’t got time to spare.”

”Not tomorrow you don’t. It’s a holiday tomorrow.”

”This project is going to take way more than just tomorrow. If what you’re telling me is right, we don’t even know what _planet_  the element that makes up the gas is from, much less how it would react in combination with Earth’s elements, or how to reverse it’s effects.”

”That’s our problem,” Coulson interrupted. “Nobody does, including me. We’re all at loose ends: Fury, Hill, everybody we know.

”I just don’t know what to do,” Coulson sighed, rubbing his face.

”I’ve got an idea,” Peter piped up. An idea had been slowly brewing in his mind since the dilemma had been posed. It was only a matter of time before it sparked. “You said everyone you know doesn’t have an answer. What if it’s someone _you_ don’t know?”

Happy apparently had thought of that too, because a look of horror crossed his face. “No, I refuse.”

”It’s our only option.”

”We could call S.H.I.E.L.D.”

”They’re already here.”

”Alert the king.”

”And have him do what? We need a scientist. Plus, he’s got a nation to run.”

”Maybe—“

”Happy.” Peter cut him off with a stern look. It felt weird reprimanding him, but then again, a lot of weird stuff had happened today. “We don’t have any other choice. She’s probably already coming back with Vision.”

The man sighed in resignation. “Yeah, I know, kid. It’s just, the last time the two of you were together, the whole of Tony’s lab was covered in weird quotes and drawings of cats.”

Peter bit back a smile at that. “Yeeeaah, no promises that won’t happen again.”

”You better not. Boss got really angry with me about it. _Me._  So don’t, or I swear I’ll—“

”Fine, fine! It won’t okay? We just did it ‘cause—“

”Hold on,” Phil Coulson cut in. Peter then realized that the man had no idea of what they were talking about. “What cats? Who’re we calling?”

Peter and Happy exchanged glances. ”A friend who can help.”

”Can they be trusted?”

”Oh, definitely. Unless you hate spoilers or have a really embarrassing baby story.”

”What’s their name?”

Peter turned to Happy. “Prepare an extra bedroom and stock up on Coca-cola. Shuri’s coming for a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shuri!!!!!  
> Here come the memes.....


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri arrives.  
> I'll update really soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I positively love Shuri, so I hope I did her justice. Peter, too.  
> Please pardon my Xhosa. I looked up how to say stuff, so I might have gotten it wrong.
> 
> I’m so happy I finally got to do this pair up. When I read my notes, I cheered. They read: Shuri comes and fills in for Tony and Bruce. She also fills their labs with memes.  
> Peter has no idea how to deal with kids, but damnit he’s going to try, and he’s going to be adorable doing it.

Shuri remembered the very first time she had met Peter Parker.

It had been directly after she first visited California. T’Challa had allowed her to set up a meeting at the Avengers Tower with the recently re-assembled Avengers.

Meeting the Avengers was kind of disappointing. After hearing so much about the Avengers, Shuri couldn’t help but be a little bit let down by them. They were so _human_. Incredibly human. They constantly argued, never agreed, got pissed off at each other, all in front of foreign visitors (she, T’Challa, and Okoye).

Well, everyone except for Dr. Banner, who was pretty cool and lacked the unbearable ego of Tony Stark. But they were still all a little...lacking.

Until she met Peter.

Dr. Banner gave her access to his labs

She sauntered back into the lab, humming a tune she’d heard in an Xbox game (because why not). She was in the midst of figuring out the probabilities of her reprogramming Stark’s AI without him noticing as she pulled on one of Dr. Banner’s lab coats (which was way less fashionable than her own lab dress) when she noticed that someone else had appeared in the lab.

Someone being a small teen with a flop of curling brown hair, practically swimming in an SI sweatshirt. He had his back to her and seemed to be working industriously on something on the lab table in front of him.

All thoughts of hacking FRIDAY flew out the window as Shuri’s vision tunneled. Who was this person? Why was he here, in her lab? Rather than irritation, seeing him sparked curiousity.

She drew closer.

His face was pale and a little angelic looking. The kind of face that screamed _innocent child!!!!,_ complete with two enormous, milk-chocolate brown eyes. The thing he was working on appeared to be some sort of contraption What was he _making?_

She inched closer.

Wow, those things were complicated. They looked like a cuff of some sort, with delicate, intricate wiring crisscrossing within the metal plating.

"What do those do?” Shuri couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m-uh, I’m Peter. Parker. Peter Parker. Uh, nice to meet you, Your Majesty-I mean, Highness—“

”Please,” she said, trying desperately not to laugh. “Call me Shuri.

She saw Peter several times after that, each time more rowdy than the last. They found common interests. As it turned out, Peter was incredibly bright, with a knack for chemistry. They both loved memes. They both hated boring lectures.

She would like to consider Peter a good friend.

Now, as the Royal Talon Flyer glided across the clouds, Shuri couldn’t help but wish that they were getting together in different circumstances.

There had been a call from S.H.I.E.L.D. right as they were taking off from Wakanda. Apparently, a weird alien gas had caused the Avengers to shrink into tiny kids. If that weren’t weird enough, they were now calling on _Shuri_  to fix the problem.

But this was the world where her brother was an enhanced warrior king who drank the nectar from a magic flower, giant monsters invaded the US, and eastern European nations were destroyed by robots.

This wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened to her.

Shuri sighed and leaned against the back of her seat. Vision stood by the window to her right.

He had been sent in for “repairs.” Wakanda had been the obvious choice for the job, since neither Bruce Banner nor Tony Stark had any idea what was going on, and Vision was made up of stolen vibranium from Wakanda. Shuri couldn’t blame Vision for what he was made of. He was actually a pretty cool dude. He had a completely different perspective on the world from anyone Shuri had ever met before. It was more of an objective view, based on fairness and reason. The world needed more reason.

It had been a simple fix. Hundreds of circuit reconfigurements and multiple fuse replacements later, Vision was as good as new. Probably better.

Minutes passed.

”Princess,” came Okoye’s voice. “We are arriving.”

Shuri looked out the window to see the approaching New York skyline. Not nearly as beautiful as Wakanda, but there was a sort of beauty to the geometric horizon of buildings.

The Flyer changed directions, and the Avengers Tower zoomed into view, as proud and majestic as always, not unlike Stark himself. After another sharp bank, the landing pad came into focus.

The landing pad wasn’t empty.

" _Yima_ ," Shuri called. "Stop! STOP!"

Okoye brought the Flyer to a grinding halt in midair, sending Shuri lurching forwards. She caught herself quickly and pointed down at the ground. “Look.”

Okoye’s quick intake of breath only confirmed Shuri’s fears. “Open the doors. Let me down.”

”My princess–“

”Do it!”

The doors slid open and Vision lowered Shuri down to the pad. Shuri’s fears were confirmed when she spotted, several meters away, a small figure sitting on the edge of the pad, legs dangling into open air. It looked like a little boy.

One slip, and he was plummeting to the city below.

Shuri ran up to the little boy as fast as she could while avoiding the edge of the pad., Agent Coulson's words still echoing in her ears. _They’re vulnerable. Scared. Half of them won’t communicate._

When she reached him, he flinched away like a spooked animal.

He was so small, with tousled blonde hair and wide, wide blue eyes. She approached slowly, hands outstretched and open. ” _Omncinci_.” Little one. “What are you doing out here all alone in the cold?”

The boy, who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, scooted farther away from her, almost slipping off but catching himself at the last second. Shuri’s heart leaped to her throat and stayed there, threatening to choke her. _No, not that way! Get away from the edge_. She longed to lunge forward and scoop up the boy in her arms like she would one of the children in Wakanda’s villages. But if this were an Avenger, child or not, she might end up making things worse.

Glancing back at Vision, she tried to communicate with just a look. _Fly below. Catch him if he falls._  Vision nodded, swooping below the landing pad, presumably right below in case worse came to worst. 

Shuri didn’t risk taking another step forward. Instead, she swallowed the lump of terror in her chest, fixed her gaze away from the precipice that she sat on, and slowly lowered herself until she sat cross-legged next to the boy.

He didn’t move.

 _Good,_  she thought. _This is progress._

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered holding her empty hands out again. The boy’s eyes flicked down to her hands, but then quickly returned to her face again. He wasn’t looking back at her, she realized. His gaze seemed fixated right below her eyes and on her mouth.

Like he was reading her lips.

An idea started to bloom in her mind. _Half of them won’t communicate._  Slowly, she reached up and covered her mouth with her elbow, like she was coughing. Instead, she shouted, “I HAVE COME HERE TO KILL YOU ALL!”

No reaction. Not even a blink to acknowledge that she said anything at all. She lowered her arm from her face. The little boy continued to watch her. She held up her hands and his eyes locked on them. Making sure he was watching, she pointed first to him, then to her ear, and then to her chest. The universal sign for, _Can you hear me?_

Slowly, the boy shook his head.

It was like a punch to her gut. Forget alien gases. How was she going to get a Deaf boy off the edge of the roof without causing some catastrophic event? She began to panic, but her mind was already whirring.

Without changing her facial expression or body language, she slowly reached down to her wrist where her kimoyo beads always rested. She pressed a bead, and a typing screen popped up. She tapped in a message and held it up for the boy to see.

**Can you read this?**

He nodded. Hope blossomed in her chest. Now they were getting somewhere. She cleared the message and typed again.

**My name is Shuri. I am princess of the nation of Wakanda. I was called here by your friends to come help with what happened to you. I promise I am not here to hurt you. Can you tell me your name?**

The boy motioned for the bracelet. A little startled, Shuri handed it over to him. He fumbled with it for a few seconds before she reached over and pressed the button for him. He typed in a message, hands shaking.

When she saw what he had written, her heart sank.

**I don’t believe you. Prove it.**

**I promise we are not here to hurt you.**

**Yeah? That’s what da said too. He never let it stop him.**

Great. She was dealing with an abused, paranoid child as well. A swell of pity rose up in her, but she pushed it down. It would do neither of them any good. Quickly, she pressed in another message.

**I am not your father.**

**Why should I care?**

This was not going as expected. She had no idea how to proceed with this. How could she convince him that we wasn’t here to hurt him if he didn’t believe anything she said?

An idea sprang into her mind.

Hitting a bead, she typed in a command. A hologram popped up, and the boy jolted backwards. For about the billionth time in the last five minutes, Shuri pressed down the urge to grab him and drag him away from the edge. Instead, she hit play.

It was the archived call from Agent Phil Coulson. Thankfully, she’d had enough foresight to save it for further notice just in case. This was the in case.

She glanced over at the boy just in time to see his eyes widen. Coulson’s message relayed over, subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the hologram.

_“Princess Shuri. Sorry for the inconvinience. Umm. This is Agent Phil Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve had...a dilemma come up. We were wondering if you could come and help us with it. It’s regarding the Avengers. I’m aware that you are traveling back with the Vision, so if you get this message before then, please come to the Tower as soon as possible. We can arrange any type of recompense if necessary—“_

Shuri gasped as the boy clawed the bracelet back from her, scratching her wrist in the process. The video cut off prematurely.

She was shocked to find tears in the little boy’s eyes, lower lip trembling like he was about to burst into tears.

A second later, he did.

His cries were loud and howling, and he almost tipped over the edge of the landing pad. Shuri’s resolve broke into panic, and she lunged forward, grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt and scooping him up into her arms. This time, however, he didn’t protest. If anything, he curled into her more, burying his face in the fabric of her dress.

Vision rose over the top of the pad, confusion evident in his synthetic features. She shook her head at him. _Not now. Later._

Only when they were safely off the landing pad did she relax. Out of harm’s way for the time being.

”Princess!” Okoye’s voice sounded behind her in a panicked shout. “Princess, what—“

The boy started screaming. Shuri whipped around, obscuring the boy’s view of the Dora Milaje. “Okoye!” she shouted. “Put down the spear. Put it down!”

Okoye immediately dropped the spear. The Flyer was parked behind her on the landing pad. “Princess,” she said more softly. “What were you doing on the edge? Your brother and mother would have killed everyone if you had died here.”

”I’m sorry, Okoye,” Shuri responded. “I had to get him off the edge.”

Okoye relaxed, nodding. “I understand. I just worried.”

Hurried footsteps approached from inside the tower. A harried looking Phil Coulson rushed out, followed by a pale woman with dark hair and bags under her eyes.

”You Majesty,” Phil panted, then stopped.

”Agent Coulson,” Shuri replied with as much dignity as she could holding a sobbing boy. “Thank you for having us.”

”Thank you,” replied the woman. “You have no idea how much it means to us that you came.”

“Is that Barton?” Agent Coulson asked in disbelief.

”Barton who?”

”Yes, it is.” Shuri jumped a little. Vision had snuck up behind her without warning. “We found Agent Barton on the edge of the roof.”

”Agent _Barton?_ ” Shuri asked. “Hawkeye?” She remembered meeting Hawkeye. He was a wisecracking, buff archer who took literally nothing seriously except for Black Widow. She distinctly remembered him climbing up into a ceiling vent one time. This little boy couldn’t be Hawkeye.

”It’s Hawkeye, all right.” Phil surprised Shuri by holding out his arms. She silently passed the boy over, remembering how Barton opened up at the video call of Coulson. 

“I’ve got him,” the woman said. “You show Princess Shuri to her room.”

” _Nkosazana yam_ ,” Okoye said. “Will you be alright from here.”

”Yes. Thank you, Okoye.”

Okoye gave Agent Coulson a deadly glare. He looked unperturbed. Then she turned and headed back to the jet.

The woman turned and headed back inside with Barton, and Phil Coulson turned to Shuri and Vision. 

“Thank you for getting Barton to us safely,” he said, looking truly grateful. “Let's see how this situation is looking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *winces*  
> *cracks open an eye* welp. how’d i do?  
> Hope I didn’t mess it up.  
> If anything’s bugging you, don’t let your words go to waste. Please tell me.
> 
> Sorry for the wait.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two science geniuses get together in one of the world’s most high tech labs?  
> They cover the walls with memes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry, that last one was too dark. Hope this is lighter.  
> Not much happening here. Just two memesters going at it. A lot of science crap. Some kid Avengers.

Phil led Shuri through the hallways and corridors of the Tower.

He had never officially met the princess of Wakanda until now.

She was making quite the impression, for only having been in New York for five minutes. First, she found his missing mini-agent and rescued him from the rooftop. She got rid of the scary looking woman with the glowing spear, which he was thankful for. No matter how nonchalant he'd tried to appear, that lady seriously freaked him out. And finally, she was agreeing to sort out one of the biggest problems of his career so far.

So he thanked her. Over and over again.

“Thank you so much for coming here, Princess Shuri. We deeply appreciate it.”

“It was no problem, Agent Coulson. My pleasure.”

”And we are so grateful to you for saving Agent Barton.”

”Of course, Agent Coulson. Anyone would do it.”

”And we truly admire your pioneering in engineering. Dr. Banner and Stark really hold your inventions in high esteem—“

”Thank you, Agent Coulson.”

”—and there was no one else, no one smarter, really, that we could turn to. If anyone knew anything, you would.”

“It was my honor, Agent Coulson,” Shuri replied, but she seemed distracted.

“Where is Peter?” asked the princess.

Phil paused, taken aback. That was specific. ”Uh, Peter’s asleep. It’s been a long night for all of us—“

”I haven’t seen him in months. Plus, I will need his help to do my work.”

”He said that you would be fine—“

The raised eyebrow she shot him effectively put his vocal chords on mute.

When the doors dinged open, Phil stepped out, leading the way through the living space and to the team’s quarters. Shuri followed close behind.

Phil had to give it to her: she made a statement. Her dark hair, braided into cornrows and then tied in two buns, was accentuated by the pale silver of her elegant metallic tunic. Silver ridges ran along the up the neck and across the chest of the garment in swirling geometric patterns. The skirt, which shimmered a deep chrome, framed the gray leggings and black open-toed boots, and the neckline curved up with form fitting fabric all the way up her neck.

The skirt swished as Shuri planted her feet in the center of the hallway, cupped her hands over her mouth, and shouted, “HURRICANE KATRINA?”

From a room a few doors down, a groggy voice mumbled faintly, “More like Hurricane TORTILLA—wait-“

Phil gawped at her, and she grinned triumphantly back, hands planted on her hips. He was utterly lost. Usually, when foreign royalty visited, they didn’t know their way around places, didn’t address people by their first names, and most certainly didn’t shout the names of environmental catastrophes at top volume at this time in the morning.

And if they did, no one would be expected to answer. But nothing about this week was usual.

The room’s door swung open to real a bleary eyed, rumpled looking Peter Parker. The lack of sleep was evident in the kid’s face. Crusts of sleep were still evident in the corners of his eyes. His light brown hair was flattened on one side, the rest sticking straight up in a poof like duck fluff. His nightshirt, which read Midtown School of Science & Technology, Est. 1962, was wrinkled and creased.

He blinked a couple times, before his eyes widened. “Shuri?”

”Who else?” replied the Wakandan princess, beaming affectionately. The two teenagers exchanged a handshake so complicated Phil’s head began to spin. The whole informality of this was confusing as hell. Clearly they knew each other well enough and were good enough friends to have a greeting that went on for at least fifteen seconds.

Peter grumbled something

At last, they finished and Shuri pulled Peter into a warm hug. “How have you been?”

”Pretty good,” Peter replied, then rolled his eyes. “At least, until about six hours ago.”

”Ah, yes, that would kill a good mood.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rubbing his face. “I guess so. “You know that really old movie Honey, I Shrunk the Kids?”

Shuri nodded.

”It’s like that but worse. The movie characters were kids to begin with. This is...this is so much worse. They were adults. Like, actually in-charge-of-things adults with responsibilities and superpowers. "

Shuri nodded in sympathy. “How is your Aunt May? And Ned?”

Phil watched as Peter broke into the first real grin he’d shown since he arrived. “They’re good! How’s your brother? And Wakanda?”

”They are wonderful. My brother just opened up our outreach center in Oakland, California. Did I tell you that they used to be a bunch of old apartment buildings? The first time I went, a bunch of kids wanted to take apart my Royal Talon Flyer to sell it for parts because they thought it was a “Bugatti spaceship” or something—“

”Guys,” Phil interrupted, even though he was actually kind of interested in the new outreach center. “I hate to break it up, here we need to get to work here.”

Shuri shot him a raised eyebrow, but followed Peter and Phil through the Tower, the two teens chatting away the whole time.

“You do know that Vine is dead, right?” Phil heard Peter mutter to Shuri.

She nudged him playfully. “Then how come you responded?”

”It was a knee-jerk reaction. I just woke up.”

”Sure, nerd.”

“I have to be honest with you guys,” Phil told them in all seriousness. “I have studied 128 different communication codes, and this is none of them. Is Vine a new kind of code that teenagers have?”

Shuri gave him a wry look that was quite different from the warm smile she showed Peter. “I’m here to tell you, Agent Coulson, that you don’t know everything.”

“What she means,” Peter cut in, “is yes. You could think of it like that if you would like.

”It’s more like a gathering call for all nerds,” he ammended. “Used to be an internet sensation. People would put seven second videos on it. The good ones are funny, even if they make no sense. They’ve even got one about Cap on there.”

Shuri’s eyes lit up. “I remember that one! I loved it. ‘How did you take down Captain America?’”

Peter picked up where she left off with a terrible German accent, presumably from a cue that Phil missed. “‘We shot him in ze legs because his shield is the size of a dinner plate and he’s an idio—‘“

“Hey,” Phil cut in sharply. Maybe he was being ridiculous, but the little boy with the Captain America trading cards was still there inside of him, and he was protesting the very idea of having his idol criticized like that. “Show some respect.”

Peter shrank back, ducking his head and mumbling an apology to the floor. Shuri, on the other hand, straightened up and looked Phil dead in the eyes with a concentrated version of the _Dude, are you kidding me?_ look she had been shooting him the whole seven minute trip to the lab.

Despite her smile, her eyes were steel, and Phil had to remind himself that this teenager had been raised to not just be royalty, but to act like it.

He nodded, feeling heat rushing to his face as he dipped his head. “My apologies, Your Majesty. That was out of line.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peter give Shuri a startled look that transformed into what looked a little like confusion and awe.

When the doors dinged open, Shuri strode out confidently, every inch the Wakandan princess she was, all vibrant colors and Converse sneakers and insane Wakandan tech.

Peter stumbled after her into the lab, every inch the awkward boy from Queens that he was, still in his pjs.

Phil was pretty sure that his shirt was on inside out.

* * *

 

“Why were you so weird with Agent Coulson?” Peter couldn’t help asking.

The two of them sat at a lab table, looking at a hologram scan of the bomb from Rose Hill. Shuri was already taking notes on it. They had decided that she would deal with the mechanics of the bomb, which would allow him to then analyze the chemical make-up of the gas. To be honest, she would probably leave him way behind in the dust as usual, but he just focused on concentrating on the task at hand.

Shuri sighed, setting down her pen on the table. “I’m just sick and tired of whenever people meet me for the first time, they only see me as the princess of Wakanda.”

”But you are the princess of Wakanda.” Wrong move, Peter. Shuri shot him a look before continuing.

”You know what I mean. Like I am that and only that. Did you see his face? He was fascinated that you and I knew each other so well. That we had our handshake, or that I even knew about the same Internet phenomenons that you know about.”

”Yeah...” Peter winced. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know he would do that.”

She waved him off with a forced smile. “It’s fine. You did nothing.”

”If it helps,” Peter added, “I don’t see you as the princess of Wakanda. You suck just as much as the kids at my school.”

Shit! That wasn’t what he had meant to say at all. He’d been going for the reassuring, supportive vibe, but had come out with something much worse. He braced himself for the wrath.

It never came. Shuri’s lips twitched upwards. “You are so adorably awkward sometimes.”

”...Thanks?”

She smile. “Your welcome. Now, give me the scissors before you accidentally kill something.”

He handed them over. They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. As much as Peter loved talking with Shuri, he had to admit that talking with her

"You know," she said after a moment, a smile playing across her lips. "Nobody bows or anything like that in Wakanda."

"Yeah, I know." There was a pregnant pause before realization dawned on Peter. "He didn't know?" She shook her head, the smile breaking into a huge grin. "And you didn't tell him?"

Shuri began to giggle hysterically. "He bowed to me like I was one of those stupid Disney princesses for five whole minutes, Peter! It was the most hilarious thing ever."

"You are evil," Peter told her, but he could feel a smile growing on his face as well. "That was cruel and uncalled for. He embarrassed himself for no reason."

"He called me PRINCESS SHURI!" Shuri cackled. "To my FACE! It was fantastic!"

"That's really bad," Peter snickered. "Really, really bad. He wouldn't do that if he knew how much time you spent surfing the internet for funny cat videos."

Under any other circumstance, she would've punched him. This time, she just feebly batted at him, shaking with laughter so much that she couldn't sit up.

He turned back to the hologram.

Minutes passed. Minutes added up and clotted up, stopping and choking like a freeway during rush-hour until all of the frozen, unproductive minutes turned into an hour. Then two.

Vision watched from the doorway. What had started as a fun, new science project had quickly turned into a very real, very not fun dilemma with real life consequences.

Peter was hiding his frustration by focusing on taking apart the diagrams, but Shuri wasn’t even trying to hid her exhaustion.

“Your Highness,” Vision began, but the princess of Wakanda cut him off.

”Hush.” Shuri waved in his general direction. “I’m thinking.”

A few more minutes passed.

“But am I not thinking enough?” Shuri complained. “Nothing I’m thinking of is working, and statistically something has to work.”

”What if,” Peter said suddenly, leaning down to examine the scan. “What if, what if, what if.” He stopped, and then spun back to Shuri, an Vision saw that look, the look that meant an idea was blossoming magnificently in the back of his mind. “What if we use the same algorithm from before but switched it around so it would be compatible with—“

”No,” Shuri cut him off. “I already tried it. None of the previous algorithms worked.”

Vision watched as Peter visibly wilted a little.

”What if you, instead of looking at molecular structure,” Vision suggested gently, going off of what work he had seen them do so far, “you scanned the hormone levels.”

Shuri’s eyes widened as he went on. “If I’m not mistaken, humans’ bodies do produce different hormones depending on which stage of life they are in. And if you could analyze the levels of each hormone–“

”We could find out which levels were affected,” Shuri finished. She shot up from her chair, startling Peter, who was working on a hologram of FRIDAY’s scan results. Her brown eyes were wide and shone with a genius light. “That is PERFECT!”

Elated, the genius turned to the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”

”Yes, Your Highness?”

Shuri paced the empty space in front of the lab tables, this time from uncontainable excitement. ”Do you have medical scans of the Avengers’ from before today?”

"I archive everything," replied the AI hesitantly. "But—"

Shuri cut her off with a wave of her hand. She was what Clint would call Think Tank Mode, genius gears spinning and spinning. Peter imagined it like a turbine. Generate enough energy, you get steam. The steam then spins the coil around the magnet, and voilà! You had electricity, or in this case, a Shuri-level genius idea.

Sure enough, Shuri snapped her fingers. “Bring up any scans of the team that you can find. Heat, hormones, circulatory, everything.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Wait, what?” Shuri looked like someone had not only taken the wind out of her sails, but ripped the sails to shreds in the process. “Why not?”

”You do not have clearance to that information,” FRIDAY responded. The AI sounded almost apologetic.

”Do I?” asked Peter hopefully.

”Nobody does except for Dr. Banner, Helen Cho, and Mr. Stark.”

”But-“ spluttered Shuri. “But we need them to help them.”

”I can’t override the system. I’m sorry.”

”I can.”

Vision already knew who it was before he turned. His brain had begun analyzing the speech patterns, the heat signature of the figure. Behind them, a small version of Dr. Banner stood, enormous headphones and all. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat, which was probably for the better, since none of them would fit him.

“I have the passwords,” said the good doctor.

Peter looked at him quizzically. “Are you going to help us?”

Bruce nodded, jogging up to the lab station. He fumbled his way up onto a lab stool, slipping a couple times before he found a foothold on one of the wooden rungs. “I can get you the files and most everything you might need to look at.”

“Thanks, Dr. Banner,” Peter said, admiration glowing in his eyes as he watched the scientist.

Vision decided that that was his cue to leave. “Has anyone seen Wanda?” he asked. He wanted to make sure that she was all right. And that she had slept some after the previous night’s all-nighter.

Peter nodded. “She’s in her room.”

Vision nodded and turned away from the three geniuses already lost in their own worlds of science, not before catching a glimpse of Shuri scribbling the outline of a cat on the wall in Sharpie.

Then he left.

_Even before Wanda opened her eyes, she knew what she was going to see._

_She knew this because it had been the same thing she had seen for the past two weeks. Her cell at HYDRA. Pietro’s was directly beside her._

_Above her there was a ceiling of yellowing bricks. Turn to the side, and there was a small, metal table with a meal tray attached and a dog dish hooked to its side._

_There were two windows: one on the wall, above and two the left of her bed, one floor-to-ceiling at the other corner of the room. They were only there as a reminder of her status now, nothing more than a piece of property, a weapon of Hydra. The mesh beyond the glass made it impossible to see anything beyond them._

_The true windows were on the opposite side of the room: a wall of plexiglass separating her from the rest of the HYDRA base. There was not even a pretense of privacy. She knew she had none._

_But she had known that going into this experiment. Both of them had. They knew the risks. Either they would die, which was highly likely, or they would be subjected to a life as scientific experiments, weapons, tools. A life under a display case._

_Either way, their life as they knew it would be over. And they had both decided that maybe that was for the better._

_She reached out with her mind. That was another new thing. No more whispering, or hidden conversations that might make HYDRA suspicious._

_She reached, searching for her brother the way one might search for fruit at the market. The right feel, the right shape, something about the energy that came off him. When she found it, she pictured vine-like tendrils swooping from her mind to his and planting their roots, linking him to her._

_’Pietro?’ she whispered into his mind, a small burst of pride blooming in her chest when his mind only gave a small jolt of shock before relaxing. She was still getting the hang of this thing. When she first reached out to him right after the experiment, his mind had panicked against the sudden invasion, mentally lashing out so hard that she was thrust back into her own body._

_‘Are you there?’_

_A million thoughts raced through his mind before he replied. ‘Where else would I be?’_

_That was also new. She now knew what he was actually thinking of._

_Not a lot of it was new news. He was her twin, after all. Her world, really, ever since their parents died. She knew him like the back of her own hand, his fears, his doubts, his insecurities, though he would never admit them._

_Before the bombing, they’d been close. After it, they were all the other had left._

_Even though his mind was going the same place hers was, a wave of protective reassurance washed over his thoughts and into hers. ‘Don’t think like that,’ he chastised gently. ‘Strucker has been true to his word so far.’_

_’Doesn’t mean he will continue to be.’_

_’Hold on, I’m supposed to be the suspicious one, here. You reassure me.’_

_’Times have changed, brother,’ she replied, a slight smile growing on her face. ‘So have we.’_

_’Just don’t change too much,’ he warned playfully. ‘Don’t wake up tomorrow with green skin or something.’_

_’No promises.’_

_She felt him smile before he grew somber again._

_’We will make them pay,’ he promised her. ‘Stark will pay for what he did. I promise.’_

“PIETRO!”

Wanda jolted awake to her own agonized scream. She clapped a hand over her mouth, curling into the pillows to muffle the torrent of sobs that had been her constant companion since Rose Hill.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Slow down.

Focus.

Breathe.

Her sobs slowed to hiccups. Hiccups turned to sniffles. She took a shaky breath, testing the waters. Held it. Blew it out.

She was okay.

Sort of.

A faint tapping from the door reached her ears.

“Who is it?” she whispered, trying desperately not to break into sobs again. This emotional roller-coaster was getting really exhausting.

”May I come in?” Vision’s crisp words sounded through the door, and she relaxed. It was only Vision.

Wiping away her tears, she murmured in assent, and Vision phased through the door.

He approached as usual, the familiarity of him heart-warming. But something felt off.

Right when he was about to sit down with her as usual, she scooted away.

Confusion grew on his face. “Wanda, was it a bad dream?”

”No Vis,” she lied. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

”You’re clearly not alright. You were screaming in your sleep.”

”It’s okay.”

”Wanda,” he said, and leaned forward.

“Stop.”

He froze. Hurt flashed across his features. “I’m just making sure that you are all right.”

”Vis, just stop!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want you seeing me like this. I don’t want-“ her voice broke. “I don’t want you seeing me so weak like this.”

”Wanda,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re not weak.”

”I am. Look at me, I’ve been crying for the past month-“

”That is called grieving. It’s not weak; it’s healthy. Everyone heals at their own pace. Wanda, it’s only been three years. Give yourself time.”

She fidgeted, wiping away her tears and not meeting his eyes. Then, arms wrapped around her, and she allowed herself to sink into his embrace.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “I don’t care about any of that. I just see you.”

They sat like that for a minute, and she entertained the thought of staying hidden in Vision’s arms forever. It was safe and warm here, far enough away from everything else that she could ignore all of the team’s problems, the sorceror who made all of this happen, the responsibilities that weighed on her shoulders everyday like cinderblocks. Her dead parents, her crushed homeland, the invisible nightmares that prowled in the shadows every night. She could ignore her brother’s death.

No. She pushed those thoughts away roughly. She chose this path the moment she walked out of her hiding spot in Sokovia. The moment she signed up for the experiments. The moment she and her brother decided to survive. Maybe it chose her. Whatever the case, it was her life now.

If she wanted to be as strong as Natasha, as strong as Vision said she was, she couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Pietro wouldn’t want that.

Wanda pulled away from Vision, rubbing her eyes. “How are the others doing?”

Vision, sweet Vision, didn't even question her sudden shift in mood. “Dr. Banner is working with Mr. Parker and Her Majesty, Princess Shuri of Wakanda in the labs. Mr. Stark hasn't left his apartment and I don’t know where Thor is at the moment, so I’m unsure on either of them. Agent Romanoff is downstairs in the training area, and Her Majesty actually rescued Agent Barton from the quinjet landing pad.”

”The landing pad– never mind. I don’t want to know.” Wanda didn’t want to picture Clint falling from a rooftop again. “But they’re all okay?”

”None of them are in imminent danger, no.”

”Then I guess that’s the best we can ask for.” She slipped off the bed to the floor (a further distance than usual) before turning back to Vision. “How’s Steve?”

“The captain won’t talk to anyone.”

“Has Bucky tried?”

”Sergeant Barnes is not in the building.”

“Wait, _what_?” Wanda froze in horror. “Then what are you waiting for? Call Bucky!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Shuri’s awesome outfit off of an actual piece of concept art by the lovely Ruth E. Carter, who designed the costumes for Black Panther. Here’s the link.  
> http://www.3blackgeeks.com/artist-alley/2018/2/13/black-panther-concept-art
> 
> Included the Disney princess thing because Shuri is indeed a Disney princess. She's just the most badass Disney princess ever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky.
> 
> Language, guys. Language.
> 
> Anxiety/PTSD warning, guys. So if this applies to you, proceed with much caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! i love these guys  
> More action here. Sorry for the slow pace the last few chapters.

“Fuck.”

It was all Bucky could say. Screw propriety; this had gone way past reasonable and weird, and into pure insanity level territory.

Being a super-soldier with a cybernetically enhanced arm was weird. Living in the same goddamn borough you lived in 70 years ago was weird. Regularly teaming up with a group of people who, only two years ago, wanted you dead was incredibly weird.

But those people being _de-aged_  by aliens from unknown extraterrestrial locations; Bucky was having a very hard time comprehending that. Especially since one of those people was his best friend.

He hung up the phone on Coleman, or Colten, or whatever his name was, because if his friend needed him, he was wasting time chit-chatting about it over the landline.

He yanked on a coat (it was cold), a hat (hide his face), and a pair of navy blue gloves (hide his hand). Since getting back from cryo in Wakanda, he had stocked up on a lot of stuff for his new apartment. It was really just a renovated garage with a mattress and a kitchenette, but anything was better than a cryo chamber in Siberia.

He always made sure to wear something (a hoodie, a hat, sunglasses) that covered his face. Even though he was technically cleared by the state, the rest of the world certainly didn’t see it that way. Day 1 of Re-Introducing Bucky To The Human World went terribly when Steve tried to take him to an ice cream shop a few blocks from the Tower.

A woman recognized Bucky from the news (because the world hated him) and called the cops. Not that Bucky blamed her. When normal people see high-profile assassins at their local ice cream shops, the most reasonable thing to do would be to call authorities. He still hated her for it, as it cost him an entire afternoon in a fortified jail cell before Steve, with help from Stark, could get him bailed out.

From then on, he wore hoodies or sunglasses whenever he stepped out onto the street. Don’t want a mass assassin-induced panic starting.

Today he chose a Yankees ball cap, because “go, Yanks!”, and it was common enough not to look suspicious. Plus, Steve had given it to him, and maybe there was a chance that he would recognize it.

It was raining outside. Not just sprinkling, either. Huge sheets of rain cascaded from the sky, pounding the sidewalks and buildings around. But it wasn’t the worst weather. His raincoat kept most of the water away. The fifteen minute walk to the Tower was blissfully uneventful. A couple people looked at him weirdly when he jumped at the sound of thunder (hey, he couldn’t help that it reminded him of explosions), but nobody panicked when they saw him.

At one point, he stood at a crosswalk next to two people and a dog huddled under an umbrella, and found himself studying them. He couldn’t help it. In the two years between the defeat of HYDRA and the Accords, he was on the run, a fugitive of the law. Anyone and anybody could be an enemy, both HYDRA and government officials alike. His guard always had to be up. It became second nature to read people.

One was a heavy-ish 18 or 19 year old with curly red hair, the other a petite girl of roughly the same age with dark hair braided in intricate cornrows.

They weren’t holding hands or anything, but his time as both an assassin and a fugitive led him to believe that they were a couple. He could see it in the way that the taller of the two positioned herself so she faced the other slightly, he familiarity in which the shorter girl touched the other’s forearm with an affectionate gentleness.

He kinda felt bad for them. _What a day for a date, huh?_  Even their dog, a hound of some sort dressed in a plasticky yellow slicker, looked downright depressed to be outside.

They were cordial. The red-head gave him a small smile, and he nodded. Then the light changed and the walk sign flashed, and he parted ways from them.

The entire exchange took up maybe seventy seconds. His brain did that with every single person walking down the street, deducing, observing, concluding.

When he finally reached Stark Tower, Maria Hill was waiting in the lobby for him. Shucking off his jacket, he walked up to her. She nodded at him.

It was a little awkward whenever he was in the same room as her. He’d been on the opposite side as her for years, both of them trained to think the worst of everyone and trust no one. She’d helped Steve and Natasha in their search for him, and, according to Steve had filled in for Nick Fury when Bucky shot the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of her. That one was a hard read. Could never tell for sure.

“Hey,” she said. He nodded. She turned to the elevator. “He’s upstairs.”

Bucky followed her into the elevator. She pressed a button, the doors slid closed, and Bucky instantly stiffened.

Like with the thunder, he couldn’t help it. In an elevator, you’re trapped in a metal compartment with only a system of steel cables preventing you from plummeting down to the ground floor. Bucky knew from experience how quickly those snapped when you had super strength. It’s how he killed the Sokovian embassy Sagan Jovanović in 1984.

And if the people in the elevator want you dead, you’re confined to 1.09 square meters of space to avoid getting killed and taking down your opponents.

Bucky’s breathing began to quicken, adrenaline surging through his veins. Even though he knew there wasn’t an enemy, he began scanning for an escape, a weapon to use. He could probably rip out that metal railing Hill was leaning on.

In fact, scratch that, maybe there _was_ an enemy. The cameras were hooked to a surveillance system. Someone was watching. Who was he kidding? Nowhere was safe.  _First, take out the camera, and get that metal bar, because anyone could be attacking, anyone could be watching, anyone could be listening—_

 _“_ _просыпайся.”_

The Russian hit him like a bucket of ice water, and he blinked as Maria Hill snapped her fingers in front of his face. Her expression was level, cool, and he realized that his breathing was almost as fast as his pulse pounding in his ears. He glanced down. His right hand was shaking.

His left was as steady as ever.

Bucky forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another and another until his breathing had evened out. His field of vision widened from its tunneled state. His pounding heart eased up a little. Maria watched the whole time, silent and observant.

He gripped his right hand with his left, willing the shaking to cease. “Спасибо,” he muttered, before shaking his head a little, consciously hitting the mental switch in his mind back to English. “Uh, thanks.”

”It’s fine,” she said, leaning back as if nothing happened, though Bucky noticed the slight tremor in her own hand. He’d made her, the ice statue, nervous. “Classic signs of PTSD.”

”I don’t have PTSD,” Bucky muttered. She shot him an incredulous look. She was probably right, he thought, looking at his shaking hand. But there was no way he was going to admit it. He decided to switch to a different topic. “You know Russian?”

”I know a lot of things, Sergeant Barnes,” she replied cooly. Yeah, she definitely hadn’t forgiven him for shooting Fury. “I’m an agent.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Bucky eyed the camera the whole way up.

 

Bucky was going to edit his previous statement: this situation qualified as weird. Ape-shit level weird.

His best friend was an eleven-year-old kid. Bucky was six feet tall, usually about eye level with Steve. This Steve was four-feet hardly-any inches tall. In other words, miniscule.

“Hey, punk,” he said, taking off his ball cap. Eleven-year-old Steve looked up at him, blinking with those big baby-blues that screamed _Protect me!_  despite his serious, mature expression.

“Buck?”

”Yeah, it’s me.” Bucky knelt next to his best friend. He supposed this should feel weird, but it actually felt natural. For the majority of the time that he had known Steve, he had been way taller than him. Seeing him all muscular and buff was weird, though he supposed it was what Steve was meant to be like.

He waited. This was the crux that he was leaning on. If Steve didn’t respond to him, he wouldn’t respond to anyone.  _Please let him recognize me._ Kid Steve just looked at him.

A moment passed, then Steve lurched forward, hugging Bucky like he hadn’t seen him in years. He hadn’t hugged Bucky like this in years, either. Ever since they both hit their teens, the need to be masculine overrided the need to cling to each other like this. Little kid Steve didn’t seem to care about this. “Thank God it’s you.”

All the tension Bucky had been carrying since the phone call melted away with those four words. “Yeah, good to see you too, bud.”

“Things have been so crazy, Buck. Really crazy.”

”Yeah, I know, bud,” Bucky replied. He shot the group of people crowding the door a look that said, _Get the fuck out._

Nobody moved.

 _Stevie, you’ve got a bunch of stubborn jackasses for friends._  He realized that could also apply to him. Pulling away from the hug, he looked his friend in the eyes. Remembering how physically frail his friend was before the serum, he began asking a series of test questions. “How are you feeling?”

Steve shot him a weird look. “I’m okay.”

”Having any trouble breathing.”

”Maybe a little.”

Okay. That meant the gas or whatever it was had counterracted the effects of the serum. This was not good news. Buck shot Banner a look over Steve’s shoulder. The doctor nodded, clearly taking notes in that freaky-brilliant mind of his. “Your chest okay?”

Steve fidgeted. “Yeah, I’m fine, Buck. Why’re you asking me this?”

”Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Steve, bless his stupid, stubborn, selfless heart, crossed his arms, a very familiar guarded expression coming over his face. It was the same expression he had whenever he got beaten up, when his mother died, every time he got rejected for enlistment. “How’ve _you_  been?”

”I’m good, Stevie.”

”Really? Then how come you’re so big? What happened to you?”

Bucky froze as his insides turned to ice. “What?”

Steve frowned, pointing directly at Bucky’s chest. “You, Buck. You look like your dad. You’ve even got a beard and stuff. That’s why I didn’t recognize you at first.”

”I-uh–“ he stammered, shooting a glance over Steve’s shoulder at the team. They had all frozen, Banner in the middle of scribbling something down on a sheet of paper. They all wore identical _oh, shit_  expressions. He was pretty sure he wore the same look. “Uh, yeah. Steve. About that...”

 _Think, damnit._ He scrounged his brain frantically for an idea. How would he talk to Steve back in 1929? What was happening to them then? Sarah hadn’t died until 1936. “Hey Stevie.”

”Yeah?”

”I’ve forgotten something. It’s kinda big.”

”What is it?”

“Who’s the president?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully, the way he always did when he was drawing. Did this Steve draw? He must, since he’d been an artist as long as Bucky had known him. “President Hoover, isn’t it?”

 _Oh, boy._  “Guys, we have a problem.”

 

* * *

 

When he wan’t at the Tower, Sam Wilson made the same run every single morning. This run was a little weird now without Cap lapping him every few seconds or so, but the man lived at the Tower now. Sam did too, sometimes, but he did like to stay at home some. Take a break from Avenging every so often. Do support group. Civvie shit.

Not that he didn’t miss the guys back in NYC, but they got exhausting after a while. It was nice to just chill, read whatever stuff was selling, run way slower than Steve, and not have to worry about the fate of the world.

Correction: not have to worry about the fate of the world on an alien level. The politics of the country were another thing.

Anyway, his routine was pretty simple: run, post-run OJ and breakfast, read or watch TV to avoid responsibility, go to support group and try to help people without putting on wings, try not to think that everyone holding a cellphone has a bomb, eat lunch, maybe another support session if it’s a busy day, avoid all forms of military/Avenging related paranoia, eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed.

Pretty good gig, if he was being honest. Better than taking orders from people on top. Thank God that Accords shit was over.

Regular Friday, right? In the middle of a Veterans Affairs when his phone started blowing up. It was a relatively small crew that day, only about eight or so.

A woman named Vivian was talking about her tour in Afghanistan affecting her family life, and he wanted to listen, but his phone wouldn’t SHUT UP.

”—my two kids, Tyler and Ethan, they’re twins. Both seven-and-a-half. How do I explain to them why Mommy can’t go to the new Star Wars movies with them because the evil Empire ships remind her of IEDs, or that seeing ships gunned down gives her flashbacks of places civilians don’t even know our troops are positioned in. How can I—“

_Zzzt, zzt. Zzzt, zzt._

_Damnit, shut up._ Vivian paused. Another vet, André (Iraq, two tours), piped in. “Sam, that thing’s been going off. You wanna step out, or what?”

Reaching into his pocket, Sam flicked the phone on silent before turning back to the group. “No, it can wait.” He leaned forward into his counselor position. “My time here is for you guys only. In here, the rest of the world doesn’t matter. This is a safe space, and you guys are  more important to me in here than anything else.” He turned to Vivian. “Vivian, you can go on whenever you feel ready.”

He sat back, listening to her voice. He was in the here and now. Nothing else mattered. All he wanted to do was to give her his full attention so he could maybe pay the universe back a little bit at a time for the fact that he was still alive, still running those stupid laps every morning.

Everyone needed a bit more presence in life.

 

He got home later that night, still feeling the burn of the ghost chili pepper salsa from the Mexican place thirty minutes away. Tacos went well with avoidance, he found. Very well.

Putting his car in park, he pulled out his phone. The dim light from its screen illuminated what looked like a billion notifications. Half were junk, but as he scrolled down, he noticed a familiar worrying pattern. No grammatically perfect texts from Cap. No annoying requests from Stark. No pictures of Cap failing modern life from Nat. Nothing from his friends.

Even Clint, who sent at least one text a day, was surprisingly silent.

It was as if they had dropped off the grid.

He wouldn’t be worried, but this was the fourth day in a row. And the texts had stopped directly after the Avengers saved Tennessee from some kind of weird invasion.

Thumbing through the long list of pop-ups, he finally hit the bottom. 

Five missed calls from Agent Phil Coulson.

_Awww, crud...._

He hit the name and put the phone up to his ear.

”Hello, Mr. Wilson. This is Agent Phil Coulson from S.H.I.E.L.D. We need your help concerning the Avengers—“

Anxiety rose within him, threatening to choke him as he hit the next message. “Mr. Wilson, we were wondering if you could come up from D.C. to help—“

”Mr. Wilson, we need your help—“

”Mr. Wilson—“

He listened to each one, all the words blurring together in his panic. He hit the last one desperately, hands shaking. _Please let them be okay._

“Mr. Wilson.”

He held his breath.

”A new update has come: None of the Avengers are harmed, but they all need your help. We were wondering if you could come up from—“

He blew out the breath, tension escaping with the air. Putting the car in reverse, he began to back out of the driveway.

He was going to New York.

Screw normal life. His friends needed him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all forgot about one guy.  
> His name is Scott.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Scott. I’m also imagining Clint and Sam as good friends. I feel like they would be.

The whole drive up, Sam made phone calls. To Veterans Affairs, saying he wouldn’t be able to make it. To Steve, just checking in, but Steve didn’t answer. To Steve’s asshole friend—sorry, _Bucky._  To Nat, who had the most void of emotion answering machine Sam had ever heard( _“I’m busy. Leave a message.)_

He tried Clint, who also didn’t pick up. Nobody was picking up. Hill, Coulson, Rhodes, Pepper, Wanda, Bruce, anyone who might know what the hell was going on.

He even dialled up Stark, who, naturally, didn’t answer. Sam may have left the world’s rudest voice mail, but he couldn’t help it. This was out of control. It was like everyone he’d ever known had dropped off the grid.

Finally, he arrived in New York City. It was pouring down rain in sheets, lashing across the windshield of his car, making it nearly impossible to see. Every light that flashed through the downpour set Sam on edge, convincing him he was about to slam into some pedestrian or truck or something.

Somehow, he got to the Tower without incident.

But the moment Sam tried to pull into the Tower’s circle, a sleek black SUV swerved ahead of him, cutting him off.

”HEY!” Sam leaned on the horn hard. “WHAT THE HELL, MAN?!”

Nothing like a little road rage to top off your night. After roughly four and a half hours of driving, his nerves were beyond frayed. They were destroyed from stress.

Then some stupid, stupid rich person thought that they could just cut him off because they were in a giant van, and he was driving a sedan, but that gave them no reason to—

Hold on. They were pulling into the Tower’s circle, too. He squinted as the SUV pulled to the side of the curb. He parked behind them and got out just as an umbrella popped out of the driver’s side, followed by a figure in a dark suit.

Phil Coulson.

Sam had only seen the man once before when he popped back on the Avengers radar about a year ago, having supposedly been dead since the alien invasion.

 _That_ had been an interesting day. Fury announced that he had a surprise for the Avengers, which nobody knew what to think of. To put it as Clint had said it, “Do you mean surprise as in yay-happy-birthday sort of surprise, or surprise-today’s-gonna-suck sort of surprise?”

Then Coulson had walked in, and, Natasha slapped him so hard across the face he passed out for ten minutes.

The poor guy had woken up with six of the most powerful people alive screaming at him. The newer Avengers, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, etc., had just watched awkwardly as emotional tensions skyrocketed.

But Sam was fairly sure Clint and Natasha still hadn’t forgiven Coulson.

On the passenger side, another figure in a neon pink rainjacket stepped out and shouted over the pounding water, “HEY MAN!”

Sam let out a groan. _Oh, brother._ Here we go.

Scott Lang jogged around the car and waved at Sam. “WHAT’S UP?”

Now, Sam had nothing against Scott. Really, he didn’t, other than the fact that the man had taken Sam down easily when they were setting up the Avengers Facility (another reason they moved back to the Tower and converted the facility to a storage area).

In addition to that, the guy hadn’t shut up during the whole time Sam was his next door neighbor on the Raft, cracking jokes and telling stories when Sam tried to sulk. The man was just _way_  too upbeat and energetic.

But maybe that’s what they needed right now.

”HEY, TIC TAC,” Sam shouted back. Scott grinned like a little kid, and Phil ushered the two of them inside, Sam considerably more wet than the other two.

”Why didn’t you tell me that New York’s gone all _Blade Runner_  finale before I came up?” Sam complained to Phil as he wrung out his T-shirt.

Phil just shrugged. “You have clothes here, don’t you?”

 _Don’t punch him,_ Sam told himself. _Don’t punch him. Neither of you are in a good place right now._

But it was so, so tempting. The guy had such a punchable face.

Scott, the ever cheerful bastard that he was, just grinned, shucking off his raincoat. “What’s going on, man? I haven’t seen you for months!”

“Yeah, good to see you, too,” Sam said, absentmindedly. He turned on Phil. “What’s going on, Coulson?”

Phil gestured for them to follow him. “I’ll explain on the way up.”

And he did.

And Sam had many, many questions, but Scott beat him to it.

The ex-thief gave Coulson a light punch in the shoulder like they were buddies and grinned. “Nice one. What really happened?”

Coulson just stared at the spot where Scott had punched him with a blank expression. Sam cringed inwardly. “Scott, he’s being serious.”

Scott’s goofy grin melted away into an almost comical look of shock, eyes wide, mouth partly open. “Oh shit. Really?”

The awkwardness in the air went up ten notches.

Sam could have sworn he saw Coulson roll his eyes. “We’ve noticed inconsistancies in the behaviour and mindset of each member of the team. For example, Miss Maximoff has the same mental maturity but her emotional state is that of a much younger person, as with the rest of the team. Some of the team’s memory has been reverted to that of their childhood.”

Sam had to ask, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “Who’s lost their memory?”

”Captain Rogers, Agent Barton,” Coulson said, and Sam’s heart sank. “There have been other complications as well.”

”Explain.”

”Agent Romanoff and Thor seem to have been hit in the part of their brain that creates language.”

”Meaning?”

”They have only been able to speak in their native languages, Russian and Old Norse, respectively.”

”And why hasn’t Wanda been affected by that? She grew up speaking Russian,” Scott pointed out, asking Sam’s question.

”Again, we don’t know. We’re doing research at the moment—“

_Ding._

“We have arrived,” FRIDAY announced.

The doors slid open, and Sam and Scott froze at the sight before them.

_Holy shit._

“Welcome to hell,” Sam heard Scott murmur, and, looking out at the living room, he had to agree.

On the very far side of the room standing by the window was Peter Parker, the princess of Wakanda, and a very small boy with glasses and curly black hair.

Dr. Banner, Sam guessed with a growing sense of horror.

On the couches near the hallway sat Vision and a small girl who couldn’t have been more than six. Curling from the girl’s hands were wisps of red light like smoke.

Wanda.

Kneeling on a chair at the table was none other than a very, very small red-headed girl, showing something to Bucky Barnes, who, despite nodding along with whatever the girl was saying, had the expression like he’d been slapped in the face.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed. “Is that Nat?”

Coulson nodded. “Sergeant Barnes has been with her for a while, ever since we figured out that she only responded to Russian. He’s acted as a sort of translator, though Director Hill also speaks it.”

”So does Steve,” Sam found himself saying. “Or did, anyway.”

”We haven’t been able to test that yet—“

”Hold on.” Scott raised a hand, for once a deadly serious expression on his face. “You say testing and experimenting and stuff; are you meaning you’re testing _these kids?_ ”

Sam had actually been wondering that himself.

“Mr. Lang, we need to be able to figure out how to reverse the effects of the gas,” Phil clarified. “We have been asking test questions and submitting them for MRIs and medical examinations. Nothing painful. Nothing terrible. This is all for their benefit. We know what we’re doing—“

Scott cut him off. “The thing is,you don’t. And I’m not sure I trust you guys with them.”

Sam was taken aback. He’d never seen Scott look this pissed before. Coulson looked a little shocked too. “Mr. Lang, I care for the team as much as anyone here—“

”The team,” Scott repeated. His volume was rising. “Not the kids. You’re forgetting: these aren’t mini-Avengers. These are traumatized kids without parents. And now you’re testing them. Tell me, does anybody here know what the hell to do with children?!”

”Mr. Lang—“

”Or are you just _testing_ them? Have you explained to them what’s going on?” Scott was shouting now. Sam put a hand on his arm, but the other man shook it off. Sam pulled back, remembering that this man had actually been an inmate before. He remembered how hard this guy could punch.

”Scott,” he said. “Scott, calm down.”

Scott scoffed. “Yeah, tell that to Dr. Doofenshmirtz over here.”

”Who’s Dr. Doofenshmirtz?” Phil asked.

”An evil scientist from a kids cartoon that I watch with my daughter, which you wouldn’t know, because YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT KIDS!”

The rest of the conversation around the room hushed as people turned to stare. Phil was starting to turn red, whether from embarrassment or anger Sam couldn’t tell. Scott scowled, spinning away from Coulson. “I’m not gonna be part of your experiments. I’m gonna be a parent to the kids, ‘cause hell if they need one if you’re the best one they’ve got.”

Then he stalked off down the hall to the living quarters, leaving silence in his wake. The moment he left, Wanda started to cry, and Vision scooped her up in his arms, shooting Coulson a disapproving look, which was probably his version of Scott’s yelling. Bruce curled into Peter’s side, and Shuri tried to distract the doctor with a drawing of a bunch of geese. Under the drawing, she’d written **Look at all those chickens!** for some reason.

 _Nat,_  Sam thought wildly. He looked over to find the young assassin biting her lip. Bucky murmured something to her in Russian, but she didn’t seem to register it. Sam jogged over to her. As he got closer, he saw her lip trembling. She was trying not to cry.

Maybe Scott’s Dufensmitz or whatever example was kinda silly, but Sam could see his point. These kids needed parents.

”Hey kiddo,” he said. Even if she didn’t understand him, he hoped she recognized him. She looked up at him with those big hazel green eyes of hers, even more pronounced than ever.

“он говорит привет,” Bucky murmured, presumably translating. She nodded. Sam waited with baited breath for some reaction, some recognition of any kind.

Nothing happened. His heart had just started to sink when she lifted her little arms up to him, the universal sign for _Pick me up_.

His heart melted a little bit. He scooped her up in his arms and she lay her head on his shoulder. According to what little adult Natasha had said to Sam, she had never really had parents. She had been raised without love for one sole purpose. Affection got in the way of that.

He checked his watch. It was ten o’clock, and it had been a long night for them both. He started to her room.

He could be the parent she never had, even for a short while. Every child needed one.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry guys. I’ll find a way for Scott to see Phil as a good person. Scott’s just...emotional.  
> Or is it me that is?  
> Did I mess Scott Lang up? please tell me I didn’t.
> 
> Next chapter, Thor.  
> And scott being that one dad everyone loves.
> 
>  
> 
> Guys, forgot to tell you, but for the next two weeks I’m not going to update as regularly. I’m traveling, but will try to get you the story. PLEASE don’t think I’m quitting. I WILL NEVER ORPHAN THIS WORK. PROMISE. But for the next two weeks I won’t update AS FREQUENTLY.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We’ve been wondering about these guys. At least I have been.
> 
> Clint has a vague idea of who this Phil Coulson guy is.  
> Wait...N-A-T  
> This person he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s being that good bro. Go Phil. This chapter will be kinda busy because I’m a terrible author that made you guys wait almost a month.

The bed was bouncy.

It was the only good thing about the room in Clint’s opinion; all the lights were too bright and the walls too white-washed and the vents unreachable. Never a good feature in a room. A good room always had accessible vents that you could climb into and hide in.

On the side table sat a glass of water. It was the third glass of water that night. First some lady with dark hair in all black had put one on the table and told Clint to drink it.

Hell no. What did they think he was, three? They could keep refreshing the water options, but until he got an explanation from somebody other than Dark Hair Lady, he wasn’t touching it.

To be honest, he had no idea how old he was which probably should’ve bothered him more, but he was too focused on looming black chasm in his memory.

He bounced on the springy white mattress, trying to scrape for fragmented shards of past times. He had ditched the blankets the moment Dark Hair Lady left the room. It was weirdly satisfying to rip all the bleach-white sheets from the bed and throw them on the ground.

It wasn’t a hospital room, he could tell. It didn’t have the telltale disinfectant stench or any shiny equipment, so either these people were terrible decorators or he was being kept in a secret experimental institution.

He hated doctors.

The dirtiest place, he decided, was under the bed, where dust bunnies and filth hid from strange people with glasses of water. He even caught sight of a spider or two scuttling under there. So, he kicked the no-longer-clean sheets under there and went back to bouncing.

Think, he told himself. 

_My name is Clint Barton. I’m from Iowa. Waverly, Iowa. I’m...I dunno how old I am. I’ve got a brother, Barney. He’s older than me. He’s kinda nice, sometimes. ‘Specially when dad’s had a lot to drink. He’s not nice when he drinks._

_Wait._  Clint paused his bouncing for a second, brain suddenly stuck. _Nope, Dad’s dead. So’s Mom. Barney...what happened to Barney?_

He started bouncing again, like it might jog the lodged memory loose somehow. _Barney. Barney, Barney, Barney._

A movement caught the corner of his eye as someone walked by. Clint automatically dropped like a stone, hoping it wasn’t Dark Hair Lady coming with her stupid glasses of water. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t. After a few minutes, Clint clambered to his feet again, a little wobbly on the springy padding.

_Right. Different tactic._

If he wasn’t going to get anything from that angle, he might as well try the one thing he’d recognized so far: that guy called Phil. How did he know him? Was he one of his father’s friends? No, his father didn’t have friends. And even so, it wouldn’t explain why Clint trusted him so much.

_Why would I trust him? Where do I know him from? He seems so familiar. Does he work at the circus?_

Clint stopped jumping. Where had _that_  thought come from?

Circus. Circus.

An image sprang into his head: _swinging through the air, adrenaline pumping through his veins, knowing the only thing between him and sudden death was his bare hands and a set of ropes—_

_—a warm, proud gaze that didn’t reach cold, dark eyes. Someone clapped him on the back as he handed them a handful of cash, feeling more guilty than he’d ever felt in his life because that money wasn’t his—_

_—someone yelling, sound faint like it was far, far away, and Barney_ (Barney! he thought) _gesturing, signing wildly,_ I can’t stay here. _Devastation as he protested, and Barney’s back as he walked away—_

Movement in the doorway jolted him from the swampy waters of his mind, and for the second time in five minutes, Clint dropped down onto the bed, but it was too late anyways.

The guy called Phil stood over his bed, a half-amused, half-sad expression on his mild face. Stress lines creased his forehead. Clint’s gaze automatically went down to his hands and almost rolled his eyes at the _stinkin’ glass of water_  clasped in Phil’s hand.

But he didn’t comment as Phil walked over and set down Glass Number Four beside Glass Number Three before sitting on the bed across from Clint. His eyes flicked to a stray corner of the sheets poking out from under the bed, but didn’t say anything.

They sat for a moment without talking, giving Clint a chance to look at the man that his subconscious had decided to recognize without telling the rest of him.

He was an unassuming looking man, pale hair and a receding hairline slicked back. His weathered face looked tired and stressed, like the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. Maybe it did. 

Some adults seemed to think that kids didn’t get facial expressions. Wrong. Clint had spent his whole life relying off of facial expressions. This guy in a suit couldn’t hide stress from him.

Finally, Phil broke the awkwardness.

 _Do you know who I am?_  he signed. That was new. Dark Hair Lady had been semi-decent at signing, but nothing like this guy. He was clearly fluent, signing with liquid grace that only came when you could seize the language without thought.

Clint was only trusting him more and more. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t let down his guard in the years since Barney walked out of the picture.

Wait, _years?_  His own messed up memory was starting to throw him of every second on the second.

Shaking it off, he answered, _Yeah. Sorta._

Phil’s shoulders kinda slumped at that, and Clint felt inexplicably guilty, even though he hadn’t really done anything wrong.

 _I mean,_  he continued, _I know you’re Phil._

 _Anything else?_ Phil’s expression was suddenly intense, focused. Clint had to look away.

_Don’t know yet._

Phil looked like he was gathering himself a little before going on.

 _I hear you’ve been giving Hill a bit of a hard time_ , he signed

Hill.

_Oh, you mean Dark Hair Lady. Yeah._

Phil shot him a sort of incredulous look. _You remember me but not her?_

_Like I told you: flashes. Don’t know. She keeps trying to give me water._

Phil gave him a chastising look like his mother used to. _You do need to drink, Clint._

Clint flinched at his sign name.

He couldn’t help it; he felt like he’d been slapped.

He didn’t tell a whole lot of people he was deaf. It wasn’t all that great in the back-stabbing industry that was the circus (he was starting to remember) to put a target like that on your back. Only a select few people knew: Barney, Trickshot, and the Swordsman.

In fact, Barney had been the one to come up with the sign using Clint’s stage name of Hawkeye: two _h_  fingers coming up to form the pulling back of a bow and arrow. It was something just the two of them shared.

But for this man to know it...Clint really didn’t know anything anymore. He didn’t even know what was going on right now.

_How do I know you?_

Phil looked kind of taken aback by the question, like he hadn’t expected it so soon. Clint watched as he squared his shoulders and lifted his hands, wincing like he was about to walk on hot coals.

His signs were small and careful. _You and I...you and S.H.I.E.L.D., really, have a long history. This is going to sound weird, but how old are you right now?_

_Nine._

_You haven’t always been nine. Actually, until about four days ago, you were much older. Decades older._

Clint almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. _You shitting me?_

_Not at all. You’re an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.—_

_Am I supposed to know what that means?_

Phil sighed. _Guess not. But I’m telling you all the same. You work under Hill and Fury.”_

He fingerspelled them out. H-I-L-L and F-U-R-Y.

_—a woman looking across from him beside a tall man in a long trench coat—_

_—bright sun, bright enough to drown out the pain in his side, radio crackling with a woman’s voice, “Barton! Status!”—_

_—a hand clasping his own, the words_  “Welcome to Level Seven” _echoing in his ears, his heart stopping as a figure stepped out of the shadows, face heart-wrenchingly familiar—_

Air whooshed out of Clint’s chest and he slid off the mattress with a thump, landing on the floor with the dust bunnies.

Phil lurched forward, but seemed to catch himself at the last second the way the girl out on the roof had.

Even though his mind was confused and full of holes, it didn’t stop his heart from screaming out at the memory of this man, _Phil_ , slumped against a shiny metal wall, blood seeping through the front of his shirt.

He didn’t know when it was from, but it felt like yesterday. And Clint felt...weird.

_I thought you died._

Clint didn’t realize he’d said it aloud until he felt firm hands grasping his shoulders. He didn’t flinch away. Just looked up.

 _I’m sorry I never told you,_  Phil signed, a strange expression on his face that Clint, for once, couldn’t decipher. I _wasn’t even told for a long time. By the time I knew, it was too late to go back._

 _But you’re here now,_  Clint argued, not even sure why. _Why didn’t you tell us before?_

_Believe me, I wanted to. But you guys had so much going on, and then we found out about H.Y.D.R.A. After that, everything became a mess, and by the time we had it settled, half of you were in jail or on the run. Once you got back together, I could, and I did. And you and Nat never forgave me for it._

Nat.

It was as if a bolt of lightening had electrocuted him, lighting up an empty half of his soul he had forgotten about.

Natasha.

The biggest flood of memories yet slammed into him, but he brushed them off. All that mattered now was...crap, he didn’t know.

 _Natasha,_ he signed to Phil. _Where’s Natasha?_

Phil blanched, clearly taken aback by his change in attitude. _She’s with Mr. Wilson right now._

 _I need to see her._ Clint started toward the door. _Where is she?_

Phil stepped in front of him, blocking him. When Clint looked up in confusion, Phil let go of his shoulders to sign, _She’s not in a good frame of mind, right now, Barton._

 _I don’t care._  Clint tried to push past, ignoring the sudden use of his last name. _I need to see her._

_Not yet._

An image flashed in his mind of a small red-haired child, curled up in the cargo space of a jet. Unmoving. Unresponsive.

 _Phil,_ he signed. _The last time I saw her she was almost comatose._ I need to see her. _Now._

Honestly, like most things that had spewed out of his mouth in the last ten minutes, he had no idea if that was true. But he was wagering that if it was, which he suspected, it would get Phil.

It got Phil.

He moved aside.

Before Clint could go barreling out of the stupid lab room, Phil caught his arm and signed, _Room across from yours._

_I remember._

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two. Scott’s coming! And so are Thor and Tony. Don’t worry. I didn’t forget.
> 
> This is a rough translation. Sign language wouldn’t actually look like this, given that it has a completely different syntax structure than English. It’s a different language.
> 
> Also, how’d I do? I feel like I messed up.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll keep updating tags as we go. Thanks for reading!  
> Special thanks to my friend, Samuel, for doing all of the grunt work: editing. I couldn’t have Englished without you.


End file.
